The Y stinks of failure

I dislike going to the Y in the morning because that's when the old losers who live upstairs come down to use the locker room to shower and clean up after a night in the gutter. I was shaving after working out this morning when two old guys in stained underwear and yellowed t-shirts took up spots at the sinks on either side of me. They both put one foot on their respective sinks and began clipping their yellow/grey petrified toe nails. The pace became fast and soon clippings were flying all over the place. The sound was obnoxious, like the inside of an arcade. I think, at one point, they were battling, with me in the middle, like two armies launching mortars at each other. Finally, a clipping hit me on the face, less than an inch from my eye. "Enough!" I yelled. The two old-timers slunk away from the sinks and into the locker area. A few minutes later I saw one of them sneaking up on me, twisting a towel, preparing to snap me in the ass. He was giddy, his toothless mouth flapping all over the place. "Don't even think about it, you old bitch!" I yelled at his reflection in the mirror. "I will snap your neck faster than a fart disappears in the wind!" He looked stung, as if he'd just fallen and broken his hip for the fourth time. This is how you have to deal with these old Y residents. Otherwise, they'll shit all over you.