That guy, that's me

I'm a sweater. Not that I'm made of woven or knitted wool, I just sweat- and saying I'm perspirer doesn't really roll off the tongue or the page (in fact according to spellcheck, it's not even a word). In any weather, in any amount of clothing I can work up a certain lather. This is one reason I never like to make plans for after having gone to the gym. Sure I can shower. What I can't seem to do is dry off. In fact it seems worse when I do shower. Especially in the summer.

The other night, I walked out of the gym- freshly showered- into the humid air of an August evening, on my way to dinner with my wife and friends. As I walk to the train, the moisture on my face graduates to dampness. By the time I get downstairs at Columbus Circle and on the platform, my face can now be classified as wet. I get on the crowded train, and it's not quite as cool as one would hope in my ever-increasing aqueous condition. And as we pull out of the station, it is Niagara Falls. Water is dripping off my face, and people are now looking at me. I'm THAT guy. As in: "Oh my, is that guy okay?" or "Woah, look at that guy!"

As the train moves on, I thought to myself I knew this was going to happen, I should have borrowed (see also: stolen) a towel from the gym to bring with me. Then, I remember that earlier in the day I had bought a roll of paper at the drug store, and had jammed it into my gym bag. Genius! So now here I am, sweating profusely, tying to keep my balance in the middle of crowded subway car, rifling through my gym bag to pull out the plastic Duane Reade bag which holds my immediate savior. Got it! Now I'm still keeping my balance, and trying to rip open the plastic wrap which covers the paper towels, all the while condensating like a can of beer left out on the picnic table. And again, I see people watching me struggle, and I realize that I'm THAT guy again. As in: "What the hell is that guy doing?," or "See kids, you could end up like that guy."

The paper towels out of their wrapper, everything back in its place, I can finally mop myself down. In my mind, the people around are so happy for me ("Good for that guy!"), and my stop comes and I head up to street level and to some very welcome breezes. After arriving for dinner, I feel the need to apologize for my saturated state- although it's a vast improvment over just a few minutes ago. Once we get inside and I can sit in the air conditioned dining room, I finally start to dry off. Ah, sweet AC and chairs. That's really all THIS guy can ask for in the summer. Someday I'll learn.