The Locker Room Lockout

The worst form of mechanical treachery committed against the fitness world happened on a cold Thursday morning when a normally very talented twenty-nine-year-old software architect by the name of Julian tried locking up a regular-sized locker within a fancy downtown gym with a rented padlock.

Julian held two professional qualifications in cryptography and cryptographic key management, yet he found himself engaged in a psychological war with a three-number rotating dial that exhibited the same sort of tenacity as a vault door. All that Julian had done was try to keep his winter coat and leather shoes safe while he attended his early morning spin class; however, the thick metallic tube provided him no tactile response, no number markings that matched the indicator arrow, and absolutely no compassion.

With the intention of penetrating the perimeter of defense put in place by the lock, Julian resorted to performing a progressively aggressive range of twisting movements, turning the dial of the padlock fully thrice before endeavoring to stop at exactly the desired combination. In response, the padlock refused to open, and was tightly and stubbornly fused together. Julian surveyed the confined changing room with horrified eyes as he watched five other gym members, all dressed identically in futuristic sweat-absorbing shirts, casually secure their locker doors and sauntered into the exercise room with stealth like spies. Standing there beneath the blazing fluorescent lights, Julian felt absolutely defeated—not due to failing at the sophisticated hacking of some kind of complex security system—but because he couldn't manage to open up a simple combination lock.