Blowing mindlessly, and repeatedly on a very shrill whistle, for no good reason at all, is annoying.
Doing this in a gym locker room is even more bizarre.
I try to change as quickly as I can when the noise suddenly stops and a different kind of nuisance emits from his pie hole.
“Bolo ! Yo Bolo !”
I turn around. I sigh. I hate the reference.
I am being called Bruce Lee’s sidekick from the 1973 film Enter the Dragon by a complete stranger.
With less of a kung fu fight and more of a RuPaul read, I ask him if I’m the reason he stopped blowing on his little rape whistle.
His rage is immediate: “That’s an insult! I don’t need a rape whistle, I know how to snap a man’s neck with my bare hands! I’ve been trained!”
I say nothing, and calmly walk out.
I’ve certainly grown. But not just in size.
For the first time ever, I am not afraid to tell a racist bully to fuck off.