Don't Tread On Me

I had only been awake for forty five minutes before it happened. Allow me to explain.

My early shifts start at 08:00 most days, and so when I wake up, I need to get to my place of work and use the showers there to make myself not smell like a long-dead yak. I have usually been pretty good at the whole waking up thing, getting into the changing rooms and having a long luxuriant shower for about forty five minutes, until I resemble a pink strip of wet jerky. Yes, it is more horrible than you can imagine.

I was running late today, and so got into work about half an hour later than usual.
And then it happened.

Imagine the scene: silence, apart from the sound of running water and a poor, reedy English version of 'Diamonds and Guns' coming from the cubicle. No change there, and though I was wary due to the time, I was feeling pretty pleased with myself as the last of the suds spiralled away. Shutting off the water and stepping out of the stall, I reached to shut the cubicle door behind me-
The click of the door handle leading to the changing rooms. The opener must have felt the same way as me; the creeeeeeeak of the door slow was and hesitant; the same way a young deer approaches a quiet clearing with an inexplicable pile of nourishing leaves in the middle.

Though I am not ashamed of my grotesque, corpulent body; having long stopped caring about my 'lats' and my 'delts', I am just not that interested in putting it on show for a total stranger. Well, if it was five years ago, sure: I was young and I needed the money, but now? Not on my watch, bub.
This left myself and my mystery opponent at a stalemate, the door was half open and my shame on display, an agonising and compromising reach away from the towel rack.

I was not brought up through school to be comfortable stripping naked in front of my friends; so this scenario was unfamiliar. I had to pull it together: the guy on the other side of the door was rapidly approaching the limit in which you can hesitate in situations like this and within seconds his hand would be forced. The door opened outward.

Time slowed to a crawl; it was so bright, everything in stark detail. The tiny mountain ranges that spread out icy and mysterious across the polystyrene ceiling tiles, and the slick grey metal of the lockers, reflections of my face distorted on its surface, wavering as if through a sheen of tears.

I dug deep. Why should I feel put out? He's the invader here, how dare he! No more: a stand has to be taken, not just for me, but for naked men everywhere, in every public shower block in the universe. They cry out for a saviour, a martyr to this age-old conflict.

They were not found wanting this day.

I stood my ground, shaking with furious defiance. He entered, a curt nod at a point about a foot to the left of my head as he scuttled, head down to the coat hooks. Through one gesture the see-saw of shame fell his way, and he was caught unawares suffering a double dose of mute embarrassment. Inside I let forth a bestial roar that shook the very heavens and outside my actions pumped with victory as I pulled on my boxers, eyes shining with a primal glow.

For this day, I had won.