Thursday, January 23, 2014

Dear Gym Patrons

As a person who doesn't only go to the gym in January, let me just say: I hate January. The resolutions, the crowds, the (wrong) use of the equipment, the BAD ASS kids. It is enough to make people lose their ever-loving minds within the confines of the YMCA. I can put up with some ridiculousness… without throwing a *huge* fit, while still making it obvious that I am not pleased. Listen: when I tell you that TODAY made me want to stand on the front desk and start cherry picking people to point out their bad behavior… Whoa. It is sincerely a miracle that I was able to make it out of there with my wits intact. The experience made me come home and type out this open letter to the patrons of my gym, so there is that. Tell me if you can relate to my sentiments: 

Dear children at the gym: Listen, there is day care here. If you are not a preteen- get you little monkey ass off the bikes. I am not your parent and I am not going to say something nice like "oh, Billy, you need to share the equipment." Naw, Billy. Move your punk ass out of the way. I don't know if you have escaped the protective walls of the children's center, but if I have to lead you bubble head back over there, we are going to have problems. If you can't reach the arm controls on the elliptical machine, why is our punk ass on it? Why aren't you with your mama? Matter of fact, point her out to me, Billy. Clearly, I need to have a heart to heart with her. 

Dear New Year Resolution Crowd: I get it. New Year, New You. Work it!! Just don't work your ass over here to me. I tried to prep for your group. I make a plan of what I need to do in the gym and for the month of January, I avoid classes because I have seen the fallout of one too many people in boot camp class. I plan around you because I know it won't be long before the regulars will be back to our little routine, without having to work around you. And please stop confusing me with the trainers around here-- I don't have on a Y shirt. If you don't know how to use something, don't ask me… pay for some personal training lessons and

Dear teenagers: Even with my headphones on I can hear you talking about Susie and Johnny kissing at school or about the new One Direction song/video and who Harry is dating. Guess what? No one cares. Move your ass from in front of my locker. Harry Styles does not know you, silly bird. And if he were dating that Kardashian girl, you wouldn't have a say-- let's move this convo to the side of the locker room, please. I know that you think you have earth shattering news, but unless you are about to tell me that I cannot leave the Y because The Rock is headed in here to sweep me off my feet, like the last scene to An Officer and a Gentleman, I can do without the theatrics. 

Dear grunting guys: Just stop it. Hit the weights, fine. Grunting noises like you are passing a kidney stone? Not fine. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. 

Dear older ladies getting ready for (or after) water aerobics: Hello, how you doing? I know that it is all the rage to love your body and I am all for that. Just do me a favor: while you are embracing your new found love for your body, especially when you are peeling off your wet bathing suit… please, please, turn the other way. We all have wrinkles, dimples and stray hairs that the razor has missed, HOWEVER… I don't want to see full on bush when I am getting dressed. You love your body? Cool. I am so proud of you. But you are a total stranger and I have now seen more of you than I have seen of some of my CLOSEST friends and I might be scarred by the fact that you are vying for the world's hairiest woman title. I need you to realize that looking like a 70s porn star is all good-- for the privacy of your own home and far away from me in the locker room. 

Until next time, y'all.


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