This place doesn't have pagers. And I'm guessing, Ryan, from the size of you, that you are not particularly at risk for gang rape.
I'm glad you enjoy the solitude you find and put it to work. I'm a more social lifter but it's all good.
Maybe I come from an era of different standards but I came into my own in a Gentleman's Gym. It was so-named by the weight room manager, Al, who kept that place running like a well-oiled machine. A massive body builder, himself, he tolerated nothing but gentlemanly behavior--no cursing, shouting, spitting, dropping or clanging of weights. You treated the equipment as if it were your own. You put your weights back when you were finished. You helped others load and unload theirs. You took pride in your facility and you had your lifting bud's back. Everybody spotted everybody. If a man harassed a lady, he was ushered out. We had Broncos football players, professional bodybuilders, pro wrestlers and boxing champs galore. The trophy case was so full of gold and silver, you had to wear sunglasses to look into it. People looked after each other, bragged about one another, rode each other hard, never let each other give up--your regulars were your family. And this wasn't a shiny, new Nautilus commercial, either, these were old school weights and machines, unapologetically dirty and dinged, hard core to the max. These were the days before Purell.
One day, I was walking back to my vehicle close to dark. This gym was close to a very dangerous part of the city but I usually came and went in the daylight hours and only parked a few blocks away. This night, a violent street person started following me and harassing me. I ignored him, then asked him nicely, then yelled at him, but he just kept comin'. One of the big basketball players from the gym, a guy I'd never even met before, came out of the building, ran up and grabbed the bum, whirling him around so that bum's back was to me. He talked trash to the man, asking him why he was treating a lady that way, keeping him busy while he motioned for me to run to my truck. I blew that basketball player a kiss and drove away. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before or since and I never saw that basketball player again. But the weight room manager wasn't surprised to hear about the chivalry. He said, "This is a Gentleman's Gym. We only have gentlemen here. You need anything, you just say the word."
There doesn't seem to be that kind of love in gyms anymore. The Empty Facility Syndrome of gyms after dark feels like a metaphor of sorts. The whole thing just reminds me of a dangerous road intersection where they don't put up a STOP sign until there's a fatality. I stick to community rec centers with excellent weight rooms now. The regulars know each other, will come up to each other in public and shake hands like old friends. Hell, I hug the guys I know, they're my bros. I'll never leave there. Not even for ten dollars a month and a pager.