In 2023 The Calamities forced me to contemplate moving from beautiful North Carolina and The UNC Medical Hospital System, to rural, upstate New York. The move was to make it easier for my NY family to deal with possible death or aid in a hoped-for recovery. A factor in the move was a YMCA with a pool for rehabilitation when all went well. The Upstate City I moved to was going to build a new one (opening in 2025) less than 200 hundred yards from the apartment complex chosen for my residence. Serendipity, right? Nope. Project was ended two weeks after I arrived due to lack of funding so I drive 3 miles to the old YMCA. Very old YMCA. But at least it’s there: glass half-full.
My morning swim starts at 5:30 at the YMCA. Some people work out on machines and some swim. During those painful, disabled, pre-surgery days, one of my co-conspirators was a young man who is frequently there the same time as me. We arrive, strip naked (for all you female readers), and get into our relevant workout attire. He then goes into the shower room and turns on the water in the ADA* shower. (Unmarked ADA shower, another story. Grrr.) Then, he goes to work out.
He does this every morning I see him.
Is he turning the shower on for himself, me, or someone else? I assume he does it all the time unless he is very considerate and is helping me. I go into the pool area and swim for 45 minutes. When I come out to shower, the hot water is still running in the still unmarked and empty ADA shower stall. Grrr, again.
After showering I shut off the water to dry and dress. The stage is set, so here is the scene one morning when the young man re-enters the locker room after his workout:
Young man (YM): “How’s the water?”
Me: “Which one?” (Pool or shower? But I know..)
YM: “The shower. Nice and warm?”
Me: “So you turn it on and leave it on.”
YM: “Yeah.”
Me: “You know how much water that wastes?” (The YMCA has no catchment system.)
YM: “Not much, it’s only on about 10 minutes.”
Me: Nothing. I am not ready for a fight, need to at least get pants on. Or offer him my watch.
YM: “Besides, they don’t care about money. What do they do with it all?” He is gesturing around the dirty, worn out locker room.
Me: Again, nothing. Grrr.
YM: “This place is just as corrupt as the city.”
Me. “Yep, everything is corrupt. YMCA. City. Biden. Might as well kill ourselves.” (Imagine an extremely pissy tone, to match his MRPGM** vibe.)
YM: “I don’t really care. As long as I have enough to enjoy myself and my two trucks.”
He said the last line as if dropping the mic and repeated it as he passed me on his way out. “My two trucks.”
And…scene, and yes, he did not even use the shower.
It’s easy to think he was smart enough to be making a point. But the scene revealed an attitude prevalent in America, a variation of NIMBY (Not In My Back Yard) labeled GMGA for Got Mine Go Away. It is the mantra of the MAGA movement.
And it’s okay. GMGA has been around since caveman days.
But that is the point: we are no longer cavemen…and cavewomen. Back then it was about survival, LIFE survival. Now, it’s about STATUS survival. In caveman days you had to eliminate threats to your actual life. Now, MAGA wants to eliminate threats to their lifestyle. Trans, Gays, Illegals, Non-Whites, and specifically those not in sync with the MAGA groupthink…not welcome.
All this because of an encounter at a YMCA?
Yeah, Sounds bad. Petty. I may be wrong about the young man and wonder if I was the same way at his age, with cars and motorcycles. Was I MAGAn 50 years before MAGA?
But even if I was, it makes the point clearer: we should grow out of it. NIMBY and GMGA, both.
As my personal guru, the estimable Steven Wright says: “Experience is something you don’t get until right after you need it.”
*Americans with Disabilities Act, signed into law July 26, 1990 by Republican George H.W. Bush, a war hero and all around good, conservative man.
**Modern Republican Party Grievance Machine. See old posts.
The Aging Man 