The teachings of Confucius encompass almost every aspect of becoming a better person. Unfortunately, he missed one glaring example of common decency: A kind man always wears pants in public.

One brisk November day, I hopped in the car and headed to the gym. I work out at a predominantly geriatric gym for two reasons: 1) I never have to wait to use any equipment, and 2) lifting anything more than five pounds makes me the strongest man in the room. The only barrier between me and Hulk Hogan’s, shirt-ripping strength was my thimble-sized bladder.

It began innocently enough. I walked into the john and headed straight for the stall (I don’t use urinals, but that’s another story). As I pee pee danced my way toward the porcelain god, I caught a brief glimpse of an old Chinese man changing his clothes. I should’ve known better than to have wandering eyes in a gym bathroom. I remember thinking at the time, “Thank God I didn’t really see anything!” I thought I had just saved myself from a seriously traumatic event, but the fun was only just beginning.

As I left the stall, the aged, possibly senile, Chinese man invaded my line of sight. At some point while I relieved myself, the old man had decided it would be a good idea to walk around the bathroom wearing only shoes and his shirt. He looked like an old weathered Winnie the Pooh. This outfit highlighted the one thing I feared the most: old man junk. Peeking out from the bottom of his shirt were two shriveled, old, testicles. They looked like a couple of prunes that someone forgot to pick.

I nearly fell over myself trying to get to the sink and wash my hands. I thought I would be safe there since I was close to the door. My sigh of relief came a little too early. I looked up in the mirror and, to my horror, our friend Pooh Bear was making his way to the scale behind me. Lucky me! Not only did I get to see his balls prance across the room from several mirrored angles, but now I could take in an eyeful of his ass”¦ OLD MAN ASS! No matter where I looked it was balls, ass or both. I couldn’t even close my eyes. Etched in my brain was the image of those old, gray, shriveled-up balls and an ass that looked like a sack of doorknobs.

I wanted to run, but I was like a deer in the headlights. It was as if those two crusty spheres had their own gravitational pull. I thought, “This can’t get any worse.” Wrong again! The old man decided that, in addition to checking his weight, he should also figure out how tall he was (never mind that he was probably in his 80s and likely had been the same height for the past 60 years). With his back to me, he began reaching up to adjust the ruler. Each movement pulled his shirt up a little higher. As he continued to drop it like it’s hot, I decided I couldn’t handle anymore. I broke the hell out, vowing never to return.

Less than five minutes later, the old man came out of the bathroom (fortunately fully clothed). In a half empty gym, he decided to station himself next to me. While holding back the urge to vomit from thoughts of his figs and doorknob ass, I came to realize that not all Chinese balls are relaxing. Some just weren’t meant for this world, and especially not for my gym.