When the Locker Rooms Switch and Nobody Tells You

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The other day I got the shock of my young life. Nothing catastrophic, though it might have been. Thankfully, I escaped being the star of a nudie show.

As I’ve done for years, I walked into my local rec center to swim some laps. I waved hello to the front desk staff, then to my friend Claude the Red-eared Slider, the resident turtle who lives in his aquarium near the top of the stairwell.

“Hi, Claude.”

“Ma’am.”

I skipped down the stairs and into the women’s locker room. I was the only one there.

As usual, I b-lined it to my preferred spot in the far corner and commenced my lengthy ritual of setting up an elaborate personal closet system in my locker. Then I grabbed goggles and water and headed toward the door to the pool.

This is when I saw him — a man standing by the showers talking to what I assume were his adolescent sons about to take showers. I looked at the man. He looked at me. I could see the doubt on his face. Like, something about this equation is off.

But I had no doubt. For whatever reason, this guy had no clue he was someplace he shouldn’t be. Did he not read the sign on the door? I wasn’t mad at him though. I was a little amused. It’s so easy to miss the small details that end up mattering. I’d help him out.

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” I told him. “This is the women’s locker room.”

Poor guy. He looked at me for a second, unsure, obviously confused — that juggling of realities in the brain before the truth falls and cracks open.

He started to speak when just then a second man walked out of the bathroom stall immediately to my left.

Wait. What?

Now my mind was ever so slightly considering the idea of juggling, but my reality was still grounded, my understanding of the facts still solid. After all, I’d been in that locker room so many times it’d be like suddenly questioning the truth of my ears.

“Are you two together?” I asked the bathroom guy, motioning to the first fellow. I already knew the answer — yes. A group of locker room door nonreaders had come in together.

They looked at each other and shook their heads.

“No.”

This is when my brain started to shift. I could even feel it, despite the thick confusion sabotaging my mental calculator right then. If they don’t know each other, what is going on here? What are the chances that two random people didn’t read the sign on the outside of the door?

At that moment, I was still holding on to my reasonable assumption that the problem did not lie with me, but I was cracking the door open to impossibilities. My deliberative brain was demoting my automatic brain.

I didn’t have to struggle too long. Just then, six men walked through the front door of the locker room. I could say I was surprised, but that would be like saying a newborn thinks its first moment outside the womb is interesting. I was shocked as the roof of my false assumption caved in on my bearings.

“Oh no! Did they switch the locker rooms??”

Everybody nodded and laughed. I apologized profusely. I scurried to my locker, grabbed my stuff, and skedaddled. When I entered the men’s locker room, it was crammed with women. How had I missed the notification on this?

Later, when leaving to go home, I noticed a four-foot sign next to both the women’s and men’s locker room doors that informed everybody of the temporary change — except, ahem, moi.

I could not get over the hilarity of this little event and the big “what if.” What if I’d been caught au natural?

More than anything, I couldn’t get over how easy it was to assume. Replaying what it felt like in those moments when my certainty was indisputable — that’s the biggest surprise.

The brain needs extra convincing when it’s stuck on something. Reason comes slow sometimes, or not at all. When there’s no obvious reward or advantage to enduring the unsettling process of watching our faulty understanding crumble, it’s simply cozier to stick to what we’re used to, no matter how subpar that might be. How trickable the brain, then.

I’m going to carry this locker room switcheroo around for a while. It could be a tiny bell that I ring sometimes to rattle me awake. It’s easy and smooth to stay asleep. But I prefer having my blind spots exposed, even if it’s uncomfortable sometimes. Personally, that’s better than starring in a nudie show.

Hope you're well, friends.