I’ve always hated it when mothers bring their school-age sons into the women’s locker room.
I am tired of the ogling, comments and embarrassment.
And dare you make a comment to the mother of an 8 or 9-year old boy or, worse, complain to the gym’s management.
About four years ago at a public pool, I quickly stepped out of the shower, wrapped myself in only a towel, stormed right out into the lobby still dripping wet and complained to the young clerk at the front desk that a school-age boy of perhaps 9 or 10-years old was in the women’s locker room and “wasn’t just starring at me but even making rude comments about my naked body.”
The boy’s mother, who had followed me to purposely start an argument, shot back quite loudly, “If you’re that uptight about it, maybe you should at least trim it a little.”
That generated snickers from not only the male teenage desk clerk but from the dozen-plus people within earshot who quickly started to gather around us.
The boy himself then loudly commented about everything he had seen as the people around us started to chuckle.
After I composed myself, I turned to the now grinning clerk and said “See what I mean? The little brat should be kicked out!”
That angered the boy’s mother all the more, who scolded me saying, “Don’t you dare call my son a brat, you little hussy.”
Then quickly and with a strong grip she grabbed both sides of my towel, pulled me around to face her, my back now to the desk clerk, and demanded, “Now you apologize to my son right now. Or else.”
The people who had gathered around whispered and snickered. Some pulled out camera phones but no one said a word. They were content to let it all play out however it would.
I grabbed the woman’s wrists but quickly summed up my predicament and realized there was no way I’d retain the towel if she was serious in denuding me.
And to show me she was indeed serious, she pulled at the towel so that it parted open in the back. I heard snickering from behind me, no doubt from the teenage male desk clerk.
Swallowing my pride, I turned to the grinning boy and said, “I’m sorry. I apologize.”
She then said for me to repeat, “…for being such rude a little bitch.”
I repeated, “For being such a rude little bitch.”
She then asked for my name.
“Becky,” I relied.
“‘Becky’ what?” she demanded.
“Becky Romero,” I answered.
“Say your name again and tell us what are you,” she demanded.
Looking down at the floor, I did as I was told.
“I am Becky Romero and I’m… and I’m a rude, little bitch.”
She then spun me around to face the desk clerk as I let go of her wrists to concentrate instead on holding the back of my towel closed, even as it began to slip dangerously low in front.
She grinned and then whispered into my ear.
I gasped, but complied.
Trying to avoid direct eye contact with the grinning teenager at the desk, I repeated to him what I was told to say.
“I’m Becky Romero and I want to report that… that I am a rude, little bitch and ask that I be immediately kicked out of this gym for causing an unnecessary disruption.”
A downward tug my towel that nearly exposed my nipples encouraged me to say the rest.
“I should be told to wait in the parking lot for someone to bring me my clothes and car keys,” I said.
The grinning clerk merely shrugged and said, “O.K. Sounds good,” and he pointed to the exit. “I’ll bring them to you in about ten minutes. You wait out there.”
Apparently satisfied, the woman then released the grip on my towel.
Blushing badly and feeling like a complete fool and doormat, I then only compounded by embarrassment ten fold when, while trying to slowly back up away from the desk in an effort to rush back to the locker room instead of heading to the parking lot wearing just a towel, I instead tripped backwards over a bench behind me, flopped over it and landed on my back with my legs apart and dangling up on the bench as everyone quickly gathered and hovered over me to see if I was OK.
Fortunately the only wound was to my pride, especially given that the boy was quick to pick up my fallen towel and run off with it. Not that even being given the towel back would have mattered any more by that point.
School-age boys should not be in the women’s locker room. Period. If there’s no family changing room then the mothers or guardians of those boys should either have an older male with them who can take the boy in the men’s locker room or they should STAY HOME.
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