Something happened a few days ago and it needs to be shared. If I’m rating horrific moments that have happened to me, this ranks solidly, at #9.
I got called out.
I got called out by an old woman.
I got called out by an old woman at Planet Fitness for not wiping down the gym equipment.
First off, I swear I don’t spend all my time at Planet Fitness. All I can say is that the place is like the Orange Line in Boston. It’s a breeding ground for strange behavior. The woman was a DEAD RINGER for the disgusting hag in the movie King Pin. She was roughly 74 years old, wearing tight, black sweatpants, and weighed approximately 80 pounds. She had on a lot of makeup and she may have been high on cocaine.
I’ve seen her before. If she’s your aunt or grandmother, I’m sorry but she’s fucking terrifying. I’ve avoided her in the past and never had any reason to interact with her.
The worst part of all of this is my track record. I would say that in the 15 years I’ve been going to the gym, I wipe down the machines 80% of the time. Do you know how good that is? I don’t even wash my hands after I go to the bathroom at that rate. 80% wash-down rate is like Tom Brady’s QB-sneak success-rate. But that all means nothing now because I was exposed and I’m ruined.
Well, early on at the gym, I hardly sweat. Ok, that’s not really accurate. I hardly EVER sweat at the gym because I don’t really push myself that hard. Still, I usually (80%) wipe down the machines because I fear someone calling me out on it. But this time, I was not sweating at all, and I was using the CALF MACHINE. When you decide to include a ‘calf workout’ into your routine, you’re pretty much packing it in. You literally just hold the side handles while you rotate your stupid calves. An absolute meathead exercise. I subconsciously told myself that I really didn’t dirty-up the machine and like that piece of gum that drops out of your mouth…I just walked away. I caught something on the TV but I can’t recall what show it was because what happened after messed up my space-time continuum.
Crazy Martha–and I will refer to her as this now and forever–races up to me when I had reached that distance-point where you know someone is done with the machine. I was robot-drifting through the gym maze at this point, staring at the televisions.
“Are you going to wash that?” she asked, holding a cleaning bottle like a goddamn weapon. There was so much judgement in her question that I wanted to throw up and run away all at once.
My worst nightmare just happened and I WILL SAY THIS, PEOPLE. I didn’t miss a beat. I put on, arguably, my greatest performance to date. I think sometimes when we dread something for so long, we’re secretly preparing for it. All those times I imagined it were like practice-runs. And as someone once told me:
Proper Planning Prevents Poor Performance. The 5 mother-bleeping P’s.
“Yeah” I said nearly instantaneously. It was heroic. It was the fastest, smoothest lie I’ve ever told. There was zero chance I was going to wash down those fucking calve-handles but I THINK SHE WAS CONVINCED I WAS GOING TO.
“Oh, good!” she said.
I turned around, walked to get that sanitation squirt gun, and cleaned the hell out of those calf-handles. Each passing stroke was filled with bubbling resentment. What 80-pound lady needs to use a goddamn calf-machine. NOBODY NEEDS STRONGER CALVES. NOBODY. Seriously though, I watched her for the rest of my time there. And you know who she is? She’s that tattle-tale from middle-school. She’s that neighbor who comes to your door and says you need a Neighborhood Watch because some kid in a hoodie is skateboarding.
I’m not saying I’m gonna go all Steven Avery on her (THAT’S A LOADED REFERENCE BECAUSE I’M NOT SURE HE DID IT) but she needs to be stopped. Because there’s no way I’m moving on from Planet Fitness. Not at $10 a month.