So, if you’re one of the people who aren’t privy to this kind of information, I’ve been going to the gym regularly for the past 6 months. (Well, on Monday/Wednesday/Friday mornings anyway.)

During this time, I haven’t seen a whole lot of change in my overall build. Although it seems I’m the only one. My bicep apparently frightened Sobriquet’s grandmother over Thanksgiving so much that I had to assure her, (repeatedly), that no, I was not going to choke her granddaughter…ever.

But my lean muscle mass isn’t the point of this post. The point here is to discuss the people at the gym. Specifically, the people at the gym who drive me monkeyshit insane.

Now this has been roiling in me for a good long while, so if I come off obsessive or overly snarky, I apologize. Please know that I’ve been upset about these things for months.

I’m also sorry if you are one of the people on this list. No. No I’m not. If you do any of these things, you should stop. Immediately.

First, the Mother Hens.

Ladies. Particularly you ladies aged 35-55. Why exactly is it necessary to create workout “nests” before you start exercising? There is absolutely no reason on Earth that you should require three different gym bags, a gallon of Vitamin Water, several floor pads, a Bosu Ball, kettle bells of varying weights, and two foam rollers, just to exercise.

The machine E.T. used to phone home had fewer parts than the amount of shit you “need” in order to work out. And unless you’re planning on constructing a summer home next to the sit-up benches, I see no reason why you can’t just lift your Pringles-plumped asses up off the floor, walk over to the rack of workout accoutrement, and pick up whatever equipment you need, as you need it. Such laziness is what sent all those empty calories to your ass in the first place.

Now, on to Mr. Grunty.

Yes, weights are indeed heavy. And yes, when lifting a lot of said heavy weights, involuntary exhalations can, and often do, occur. But when it becomes so repetitive that people refuse to be anywhere near you while you’re preening around the free weight area, we have achieved problematic status. Not because it’s irritating (although it most certainly is), but because I happen to find it fucking hilarious. I can’t help but imagine you doing everyday things while making that noise and flexing like a moron.

Picking up the phone… “HUUUUUUUGGGGH!”

Pushing the button for your floor in a crowded elevator. “GRRRAHHHHH!

Putting your napkin in your lap… “KHEEEEESHHH!

Retrieving peppers from the bin at the grocery store… “HOOO…HOOO…HNNGAAHHHHH!

You get the idea. And Mr. Grunty? I’m going to kill myself with that barbell if you don’t stop making me laugh while I’m bench pressing.

And what about “The Natural”?

There seems to be an inverse correlation between girth/body hair and the amount of clothing men choose wear in a locker room. And unfortunately, not in the right direction. Meaning the more jiggly and hirsute the man, the more likely he is to be standing in front of the mirrors naked…shaving his sideburns.
Gentlemen, no one is interested in viewing your inner-thigh-to-navel man thatch. Please, wear a goddamn towel.

*Aside: There is a moribly obese man at my gym who puts towels down on the sink counter, then rests his bulbous, furry gut on them before using the sink. (Presumably the marble is cold on his man-udder.)

And finally, the Slipshod Showerer.

This morning, I had to open FOUR shower doors before I found one that didn’t have:
A.) Towels/Facecloths left behind
B.) Used razors on the floor
C.) Gum in the soapdish
D.) Band-Aids stuck to the glass door

Guys, it’s not that hard. Taking your towel with you and throwing it into the laundry bin is easy. It’s not like you actually have to wash the damn thing. (That’s part of our monthly dues.) And if you absolutely have to shave, er, something…in a public shower, I don’t think disposing of your used razors afterward is a lot to ask.
Now, I grok how we’re dealing with a sort of “Tragedy of the Commons” scenario, but seriously…Band-Aids? I’m at a loss as to how someone can do something like that and NOT be haunted for the rest of the day by the knowledge that they left a nasty, pus-caked Band-Aid stuck to the door of a public shower that morning.

Whoever you are sir, you fucking disgust me.

[[To Be Continued…]]

j.s.

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