My gym (oh, sorry, "fitness centre," note the spelling) is the only non-hotel related facility for at least a 20-mile radius, smack-dab in the middle of Tourist Central. As such, it can draw its share of day-members from nearby hotels without their own facilities. How do I know this? Because I have become a "Chatty Charlie" magnet as of late.
See, I like to follow-up my workout with a nice relax in the steam room or sauna. I'm okay with chatting with friends — in other words, people I know — in this environment, on occasion. But when complete strangers want to strike up a conversation, all I can do is think, "um, hi, I'm in a towel here?" (I've been advised that this may be a uniquely male concern, and that it isn't such an issue in the female facilities. I'll take her word for it.)
Part of this dread, too, is the inevitable "where-are-you-from" type question the day-visitors always seem to ask. I dread this question enough at any other time (say, when travelling), because it is always followed by the "oh-do-you-work-for-Disney" question, which launches off into a whole new set of questions. But when "where-are-you-from" gets followed by "oh-do-you-work" in the steam room, how am I supposed to act? Suddenly I've gone from anonymous-stranger-leave-me-alone to Mister-should-be-hospitable-and-friendly-based-on-where-I-work. All in the course of my attempt to relax. They'll often also complement me on "what a nice gym I have here." Now, I know my membership fee is high, but I'm not sure it's enough to justify a sense of property ownership.
Of course, Chatty Charlies can be Florida residents, too. Last Saturday, my terse "I'm local" answer to "where-are-you-from" engendered an "Oh. I'm from Orlando," as if Orlando isn't local to Celebration. Still the question remains, though: What part of my eyes-closed, don't-bother-me posture made you think I was in the mood for conversation?
