IN HIS SHORTS

Every morning like clockwork, a man camps out at the Starbucks nearest my husband's office. He's commandeered the table nearest the front entrance, right by the the bar with the coffee stirrers, napkins, sugars and creamers. In other words, you can't miss him, whether you're going in or coming out.

Which is unfortunate, really, because if you see him, you just wish you hadn't.

He's an average-looking man of average build, I suppose. Sometimes I think his presence is some form of performance art: he, the artist, challenges and even shocks us, his audience, in order to make us question our socio-political notions and beliefs about public display. It begins as soon as we enter the coffee shop; we see him sitting with his back low, almost touching his seat, his legs sprawled wide apart. He wears a pair of über-tight-fitting spandex workout shorts -- almost like bike shorts, but without any of the protective padding. And the pièce de résistance, the star of the show, is what his shorts fail to conceal.

Yep, the guy is hung like a horse; in fact, a horse too large for its stable. And so once in a while, he places his hand gently on its head, as if to simultaneously calm and restrain this wild, defiant beast. I'm mixing metaphors here, but if you've ever seen photographs of a pig inside a python -- where you can see a humongous bulge in the clearly delineated shape of the ingested animal through the reptile's skin -- then you know why the sight of the man's bump in his shorts is really quite remarkable.

No one knows what to make of this imposing scene. You can immediately spot the shop regulars: as soon as they push the door open and walk in, their heads immediately turn to their right, away from the pastoral view. The non-regulars are even funnier to watch; as soon as they see him, their heads jerk back involuntarily with so much force that you can see their eyeballs roll towards the back of their heads and then forward, and bounce around a bit before slowing to a complete stop in the form of a horrified stare.

The major dilemma is where to park your eyes (especially after you can't help but notice that equine guy prefers to park to his left). You don't want to look -- but you can't help but look. And then you take additional peeks, as if to make sure you did indeed see what you thought you just saw.

But it's come to a point where the regulars are just fed up. It's like there's an elephant in the room, but everyone pretends not to see it because no one knows how to make it go away. Even the manager is at a loss; after all, what is he supposed to say or do?

Now there are no words to describe the sense of dread I feel when I see this other fellow -- at the gym, of all places. It's tough enough trying to drag my ass off the couch, into the car, and inside the gym, but knowing he'll be around makes the effort less rewarding somehow. He's a nice guy, actually, and quite friendly too -- but that's not the problem.

See, he wears the shortest of running shorts; if there ever were a man's equivalent of Daisy Dukes, this man wears it. It doesn't bother me when he's walking around, a generous eyeful of thigh doesn't affect me one way or another. And when he bends over and exposes a bit of cheek, I simply look away until he stands up again.

But when he's seated or lying with his legs on either side of a bench or -- even worse -- when he's doing seated hip adductor or abductor exercises, I can only pray I'm not across from him. Because as soon as his legs open up even a wee bit, he presents a clear view of his - er - ovoid-shaped protuberances at the crotch area. This guy's got balls, I tell ya.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out this man shuns any form of underwear. That, too, doesn't bother me; after, all I've dated a couple of guys who have chosen to roam this earth al fresco as well. But just because he made the decision to keep the family jewels out of the vault, it doesn't mean he needs to display them, too. I mean, that's one exhibition I'm not too keen on seeing.

I have no idea if both men are exposing themselves on purpose; I suppose it really doesn't matter. The only thing I can do -- as I do with periodicals, television shows or movies that offend or annoy me -- is not to look. After all, the best weapon against folks who will do anything just to get attention is not to pay them any.

Just as all retailers know, if no one's buying, the shop eventually has to close. I hope ignoring these two men in shorts puts them out of business, so their legs finally close and stay shut. At least until they decide to wear pants. Underwear optional, of course.

Comments

[John]

This is one of the reasons I don't do gyms. When I run or bike outside, my chances of seeing men's version of cameltoe is reduced by a factor of ten.

[Anna]

My husband says the male version of cameltoe is called "buck knuckle". The things you learn every day!

[Lyn]

Some men just never know when nor how to keep it in the pants. I'm a woman who likes a little mystery. Someone needs to tell him if he isn't using the money to buy decent placeholders for his "jewels" then invest it in a small car. You know the whole - men who buy large trucks are over-compensating for the lack thereof (some of the time I've found it true). The Store Manager knows what's going on probably just too intimidated by the beast to move the table somewhere further. It's easily fixable by moving the table and replacing it with a floor fixture. It's been done. A former employee of the Bucks I found that it is a watering hole for 'Entertainers', and there are many. One woman used to come in at least twice a week with her girlfriends to have a tea party. She always paid, didn't cause a problem accept when one of her 'friends' would complain about how hot a cup of tea was. But her friends weren't so much people as they were dolls. Yes they were and my mouth fell open the first time I saw it. You wouldn't believe the types of entertainment Starbucks attracts. There's always some crazy character, every employee comes out of there with a story. For pure enjoyment I'd recommend it as a place of employment besides all the job benefits. You never need a newspaper or even another friend to enjoy a cup of coffee when you're at Starbucks, there's always some free show.

[thebee, grinning]

Yikes and he paws through the creamer and sugar packets, ew! Your Starbucks is so much more stimulating than mine, hehe.

[Gigi]

Hi John - So true. But how do we keep our coffeehouses safe from -- as Anna's husband calls them -- buck knuckles? :)

Hey Anna - I learned something new, too!

Hi Lyn - I think someone should write a book about the strangest things baristas have seen or have had to deal with. Now your story about the tea party for dolls really creeps me out!

Hello M the bee - Just last night, there was a flasher "surprising" folks at the other Starbucks in our area. What gives?

[Yey]

Cameltoe? Buck knuckles? Makes me chuckle... what I learn from your blogs, Gi!

I've rarely come inside a Starbucks, since I usually just drive thru. And when I do go indoors, I usually just order, get my drink, and get out without paying any attention to other customers. With this information, I'll keep a closer watch next time... maybe even hang around while drinking my coffee, just to see what people are doing and how others react.

[duke]

what an amusing site (if seen for the first time...)
If I was in your place I'd probably feel very uncomfortable and try my best not to look!

[mell]

lol, does the phrase, if you got it, flaunt it, apply? :)