So, last night I managed to go to the gym, despite the 30 degree weather and brisk wind. Typically, I stop going once the weather dips below 32 because I just can't stand the three city-block long walk.
(Or maybe I'm just looking for an excuse to be lazy.)
In any event, I did go and, as luck would have it, came away with some lovely anecdotes.
Dear Elliptical Machine Nazi,
No, I did not know you had signed the lame-ass "sign-in sheet" and was therefore legally justified in throwing me off the machine just as I was warming up. I did notice, as I gave you the evil eye from the treadmill via wall mirror, that you got off the machine after just five minutes. Was this a power trip on your part? Or was that the extent of your workout? In any event, I hope a rack of weights falls on you sometime in the near future, jackass.
Dear Huff n' Puff,
I know you must be dying to lose that gigantic belly of yours, but those violent sit ups you were attempting are probably going to snap your spine if you don't watch out.
Now, I'm no fitness expert, but I can tell you that sit-ups require controlled up-and-down movement. You raise your upper body off the floor, then recline. Your lower back should not violently jerk up from the bench and slam back down as you pathetically try to gain momentum for your next rep.
In addition, wearing a red puffy down vest (shown) on the gym floor (in addition to a black long-sleeved sweatshirt) is a sad attempt at sweating off the pounds, and likely violates Bally's "No Street Clothes" dress code rule. But I was impressed that you managed to sweat enough to leave a large wet stain on your back. I hope you're not going to wear that vest to go to school/work/psychiatrist tomorrow.
Dear Big Belly Torso Girl,
I thought it was very entertaining how you managed to piss off Arrogant Torso Boy while he was doing his 50th set on the only torso rotation machine in the entire gym. Somebody needed to tell him to get the fuck off, so your innocent little schoolgirl "Are you almost done?" was all it took to get rid of him. I thought you'd like to know that, while you looked away, he shot you the dirtiest look out of the corner of his eye. Incidentally, it's the same dirty look you will get from me, so be warned.
However, I was even more entertained at watching you attempt to adjust the chest pad, which, after you managed to move it, could not be lowered enough to meet your chest, due to your tiny stature. Instead, it sort of hit you in the neck as you tried in vain to learn how the machine worked. Notice that no one came to your aid. This was because we (I mean myself) would prefer that you get flustered and get the fuck off, rather than waste time when more experienced users would like to get their sets in and go home because we have a three-city block walk and it's fucking 30 degrees outside.