Why, Y?

Me, doing my exercises...

I hate the gym; I hate working out; I hate the fact that I’ve reached the age where if I don’t work out regularly, I will turn into a big(ger) fat(ter) pie-wagon.  But that’s life – so I force myself to go to the gym, if only so I can also continue to drown my sorrows with cake and booze…

But as bad as they gym is, in and of itself, it is made all that much worse by the annoying behavior of others.  If you recognize yourself below, please cut it out.

Nude-a-rellas – Yes, I get it; it’s a locker room and nudity is to be expected.  But can we keep it to a minimum?  Yesterday, as I returned to my locker, I had one of the many nude-a-rellas right next to me.  He was nude when I returned to my locker from the shower; and he was still completely nude and drying off after I was fully dressed.  This amount of nudity is excessive and unwarranted.  Just dry off, put on your clothes and leave.  Seriously.

And it seems like the vast majority of the always-nudes don’t actually use the gym…  They simply strut, parade and/or prance about the locker room; take repeated showers; and hang out in the sauna or the steamroom…  No loitering please.

Gum Lady – Always on the stationary bike, peddling at a snail’s pace in rhythm to her constant, cow-like chewing of her wad of gum.  Perhaps if you spit out the gum and picked up the pace a little you’d see some results.  And could you get a pair of more discreet shorts?  That camel nearly has one foot out the front door..

Curly Dancer – This is America and the freedom to make a jackass of oneself is one of our most precious.  However, just as the freedom to swing your arm ends where it meets my nose, your freedom to rehearse your poor-man’s Pussycat Dolls routine ends when it meets the weight room at my gym.

Let me reiterate: I hate the gym; and I hate lifting weights, especially since I am generally surrounded by well-built, much-stronger-than-I-am men and women, reminding me once again of my innate sissiness as I put my pathetic 5-pound weights on the squat rack in my enfeebled attempt to stave of the further ravages of time upon my ass. But the experience is made even worse when I am forced to navigate past your jazz hands, bump-and-grinds, vag thrusts and various other poppings and lockings as you practice your move-busting in the midst of the weight room.  Find a dance studio, OK?

The Reeker – I don’t know who you are, what you look like or what malady you’ve been afflicted with.  But if, even after you’ve changed back into your street clothes and vacated the premises, the day locker you’ve  used still smells so strongly of ass as to render it unusuable to others, you should consider seeking medical attention.


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