One Reason I Like The Y

Every time I go to the gym at my local Y, this big old Cadillac is parked in the same handicapped parking space, the one immediately next to the entrance.

Note the large signs declaring SAFETY PATROL. And the several years’ worth of 100 Club stickers fanned out on the back windshield. The 100 Club is a charity that gives money to the families of police officers and fire fighters who have died in the line of duty; rumor has it that having its sticker on your car, or better yet, a bunch of them fanned out so that a police officer can tell at a glance how many years you have given to the organization, can get you out of a ticket. (Note question #1 – and its ambiguous answer – on the 100 Club’s FAQ page.)

Though I always see the car, I have never seen the driver – and I really, really want to. My theory is the driver is at least 80 years old. I speculate, perhaps unfairly, that this person must peer through the steering wheel while driving.

Maybe she is one of the little old ladies, none over 4 ½ feet tall (and that’s counting their teased hair), who sit at a round table in the Y’s entrance area, laughing and playing cards.

Or one of the old men who stroll on the treadmills, most often in their street clothes. It could be the old man I always see, an amputee in a wheelchair, who lifts an impressive amount of weight while shooting the shit with the trainers.

Maybe having old people at your gym would not be a selling point for some. Maybe they’d like a “hot singles scene.”

Bleh.

I like the Y; it’s a force for good.