I walked into the men’s locker room where I work out and saw a guy standing in front of his locker, with his back toward me.

“My favorite man,” he said as I walked by.

“What?” I said. When he turned around, I recognized him.

“Are you the guy I talked to a couple of weeks ago?” I asked.

“If you call that talking!” he said.

“I’ve been looking for you,” I replied. “I owe you an apology.”

He immediately responded: “I owe you an apology too.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was overly assertive. I crossed the line.”

“So did I,” he said. “I’m sorry too. But it’s over. Time to move on.”

We shook hands and introduced ourselves, by first names only.

Why the mutual apologies? Here’s what happened.

About a week after the presidential election, I had done my daily workout at the Jewish Community Center on Mercer Island and was getting dressed in the locker room. I’m a 70-year-old white guy and have been a member there for many years.

Two young white guys, both 20-something, were also getting dressed. They were discussing the election results.

One said: “I can’t even talk with these people; they’re so stupid!”

I didn’t know which side he was on, but I said: “Hey, don’t you think it’s important that we all keep talking, so maybe we can understand each other better?”

He replied: “Well, anyone who voted for Trump is a f***ing racist!” I said I didn’t think that was true, noting they might have had other reasons for their votes, such as concern about their jobs and the economy. He was still sitting down on a wood stool at this point.

I told him that I hadn’t voted for Trump OR Clinton, but I knew some Trump voters and they were not racists, sexists, homophobes or xenophobes. He said: “They’re racists even if they don’t know it!”

I said that theory of “implicit racism” was nonsense. (OK, I actually said “bulls***.”)

He stood up and in a raised voice said: “What the f*** do you know? Who the f*** are you?” I said I had written editorials and columns for The Seattle Times for many years and knew a lot about the election. I said he probably didn’t know much about politics. (OK, I said he didn’t know “squat.”)

Then he moved toward me with his fists clenched. I reached out to put my hand on his shoulder as a gesture of friendship. “Don’t touch me!” he shouted. “Get the f*** out of here!”

I replied that I was a member here, along with many others of different religions and races. He kept moving toward me. Then his friend grabbed him by the shoulders, pulled him away, and said, “Come on, let’s get out of here.” They left.

I realized that I had come very close to being punched out in a place whose motto is: “A Community of Friends.” It was a sobering experience, to say the least.

To my mind, both conversations said a lot about America today. We are indeed deeply divided. Some are still angry. Some are resigned. Some are fearful. Some are hopeful. Now that a little time has passed, maybe we can talk calmly, civilly and respectfully. Maybe we can even listen to each other. If we can’t manage that, then what kind of Americans are we? If I’ve offended you, I apologize.

John Hamer, a former Seattle Times editorial writer and columnist, is now retired and living on Mercer Island.