I consider this as I see The Trainer at again. Another Jamba Juice, in yet another city, and we keep bumping into each other. It must mean we're supposed to know each other. I ain't scurred to talk to anyone, so I introduce myself. "I remember you," he laughs. "Over the summer, the Jamba Juice on Sixth Ave in New York City."
The Trainer is right. I saw him there, and now in Chicago, twice at the same location on Clark Street. I remember him as wearing a "trainer" t-shirt in the Village. And he definitely fits the profile. Shorter, brown skinned, well-stacked, very toned. There's one thing about him that gives me pause: the hair. Cornrows.
After moving to NYC some years back, I grew accustomed to seeing grown men wearing braids. First I liked it, then when I saw it take off around the country, it started to itrritate me (where do these guys work? who braids their hair? how old are they? how often do they rebraid? what about the new growth?). But of course, on him, I think it's flawless.
He tells me his name, and says he works at the Bally's right next door to the Jamba. That's why I keep seeing him there. "So where do you train?" That line is becoming the standard gay intro. In the 70s it was "what is your sign?" In the 80s, "want to do some blow?" Now, it's "where do you workout?" Unfortunately, when I'm in Chicago, not at the Bally's, but at another gym down the street. I tell him, and it knows it by rep. "Ooh, hardcore, for the big boys, right?" he teases me.
I'll be stopping by the Jamba a little bit more on the regular.