If you see yourself amongst these people it might be time to change your gym habits.
Gym Worker Guy (Don’t kick me out of the gym. I was asked to do some of these.) – Hey asshole, yeah you dusting the smoothie machine, how about coming over here and picking this barbell up off my neck? Do you get paid just to look good? If so you’re not doing your job. Don’t give me a dirty look I don’t think I know more about working out than you do. I know I know more. Maybe the first clue I have that makes me believe I have superior workout knowledge is that your physique looks like that of Colonel Sander’s, a man that ate fried chicken daily for 80 years. It is also apparent that you know little by the unsolicited workout advice you give. Did you just tell that me to twist the cable around my back and pinch my shoulder blades together so I will get a peak on my traps? Maybe you’d better stop reading Muscle & Fitness magazine and start paying attention to all the people in your gym that are as clueless as you are because I think one of them just hung himself on the lat pull down.
Gym Nomad – What the fuck are you doing in the gym? You’re sure as Hell not working out. Every time I look up you’re walking around with that towel around your neck. It seems the only rhyme or reason to your workout is that every other piece of equipment you want to use is on the other side of the gym. Although, I’ve never seen you use anything once you get there. And stop it with that fucking grin it’s freaking me out. I have an idea. Get on a fucking treadmill and then you can walk in place and instead of you walking by everyone in the gym fifty or sixty times in an hour they can walk by you! It’s a novel idea and it may take time to adjust but in the end I won’t have to see you and really, that’s all that matters.
Gym Maintenance Woman – Could you please not run that vacuum under the bench while I’m going for a maximum weight? You might want to concentrate on that dust ball the size of a raccoon in the corner while people are on the equipment and for God’s sake please don’t spray disinfectant next to me while I’m performing a set of triceps extensions. First of all I don’t know what chemicals concoction is that I just inhaled and second of all I’ve just been blinded and can’t see to put the weight back on the rack. Your job is thankless, I understand this and perhaps you need to advertise a bit. Secure a bucket to your belt and tape a sign to it that says: TIPS. I will pay you to get the fuck away from me while I’m trying to lift weights.
Quarter Squat Guy – Head band. Check. Skimpy running shorts. Check. Shirt with sleeves cut off. Check. Joe Weider 1/18 of an inch Junior leather weightlifting belt. Check. Strength…oh, that’s right you’re not strong and no matter how many times you quarter squat 405 lbs you’re not going to get any stronger. Every time I see you lift that 405 lbs barbell and your whole body begins to quake and the sweat pours out of your comb-over and collects in your headband I have to turn away. It’s just too painful to watch. You have the knees of a sixty-five year old arthritic fluffer who’s been in the porn business for forty-five years. That’s a lot of time to spend on your knees and 405 lbs is a lot of weight to hold on your spindly spine. For the sake of your joints and my sanity please vacate the squat rack and move to the leg extension machine. I don’t want to have to clean you up with a dust pan when you finally snap in half.
Tanning Queen – You’re twenty-five! You look old enough to have voted for Hoover during his first term. If someone put a handle on your back I’d think you were an alligator suit case. Those aren’t crow’s feet around your eyes they look more like the claw marks left by a vulture. I know you want to be fashionably brown but barbecuing yourself like a porterhouse everyday is not going to make you more attractive. First we have to establish the fact that a tanning session is not a workout and you can’t cover that pouch under your belly button, which looks like your trying to smuggle an Easter ham across a hostile border, with a darker tan. You need to actually exercise to lose that excess pork and this involves MOVING! We’ll take it slow at first, a trip to the stair stepper and back and we’ll withdraw you from the ultra violet rays one hour at a time so by next Christmas your skin won’t look like the turkey’s that's sitting in the center of the table.
The Ladies Man – Did you just slip Barry White into the Gym’s stereo system and sneak back to the breaker box and dim the lights? The gym is not your bachelor pad, put the radio back on and turn up the lights. Here’s a clue as to why your workout takes five hours. While walking from the locker room to the free weights you talk to and touch every fucking woman in the gym. Do you really think they believe you to be as witty as you think you are? They know you just want to get laid so cut out the bullshit and give them a business card that reads: I like to Fuck and Run. This will cut your workout down to fifteen minutes. And for God’s sake please stop smothering yourself in that cut rate cologne that you buy by the oil drum at Costco; this is not an alternative to washing with soap and hot water. You smell like something the pimp dragged in. Yes, everyone can hear your over exaggerated laugh and see your white teeth as you pretend to be amused but are really scoping out the next piece of “ass.” You have a problem it’s called an over-exaggerated sense of self and while I was going to get a drink of water I tripped over your ego which has now engulfed half the gym. So reel it in. Show some modesty. Take off the spandex pants, lower your eyes and quit laughing so much to show how jolly you are because although you’re laughing on the outside everyone else is laughing on the inside at the buffoon you’ve become.
Angry Workout Woman – Did you just bight a ten penny nail in half? Chill, I’m not staring at you, it just so happens you’re standing in front of the clock! And besides how would you know I was looking at you if you weren’t looking at me? Makes you think doesn’t it? Maybe you’re not the bitch everyone thinks you are. Maybe underneath that makeup spackled on your face there is a decent woman but I doubt it. If the gym environment makes you hostile maybe you should fill old milk jugs up with cement and throw those around your yard because every time I look up and see your sour face it ruins my day. Did your boyfriend break up with you and now you hate all men? I can’t possibly see why he’d break up with you, it seems like you’re such a kind and loving person. Maybe he’s the asshole but somehow I doubt it. My advice as unlicensed physician would be to lighten the fuck up because the way things are going the only people that are going to show up at your funeral are the Ladies Man, because he’ll think there might be a chance he’ll get laid, and the crazy woman with fifty cats that lived in the apartment above you. Not much of a send off is it? So yeah, I was looking at the clock but if I wasn’t who the fuck cares?
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