All Balls Itch

Another girl pretending to be a guy so she can write freely. And not get fired. Or divorced. Or lose friends.

My Gym Sucks Balls

I used to go to the high-priced gym.  The one where the staff looked like they stepped out of an issue of Steroids &  Pheromones Weekly.  People who would lift your car to get your post-exercise Cinnabon that rolled there.  Then punch you in the face for buying it.  Those folks who know where the fuck a lat or trap is; and only consume calories, not food.  Those who use the gym shower to shower and not as a changing room for the modest and not-at-all stealth.

Dude, I SEE your socks!

But I wanted shoes more than I wanted to rid myself of that pesky roll of backfat, so I downgraded to the ‘affordable’ gym. The one that smells like bacon grease and despair.

When My Boy and I went on our international vacation, I was identity-thefted.   After frustrating bouts of uncommon sense with the bank and the police station, I’d forgotten to update sad-gym with my new credit card number. Heaven forbid, they miss my $12.11 monthly payment.  But I did get a call from a boy whose voice cracked and very probably was masking a chubby behind the front counter.  I explained to Boner Boy what happened and gave him my credit card.

Problem solved.

Then I get a letter in the mail from wackadoo-gym saying they still can’t charge my card. And my annual membership was due.  Even though I’d only been at the gym for 6 months.  After I looked up the word “annual” in the dictionary, I decided to visit the crazytown-gym in person.  Where I was greeted by Katy Perry. Or her angry little sister.  I showed Not Katy the letter was sure to explain to her the situation using 1-syllable words.  Because Katy was smiling like I had a gun to her head (yeah, I must’ve had my Angry Black Girl Face on again).  Not Katy took out one of those carbon copy slips and rubbed my card number with the pink bobby pin holding back her bangs.

Problem Solved.

Four days later I open my email and get a “Hey, loser, your card was declined AGAIN” message from the crack-gym.  That is NOT bcc’d to everyone with payment issues that month.  Yup, the put everyone’s email address in the “To” field and I can tell you the name and email address of everyone who decided to buy ho-hos instead of pay their gym bill. Normally, I would hang my head in shame because, let’s be real, this is NOT the first time I’ve gotten this message.  But this time it was TOTALLY NOT MY FAULT.

I immediately call unprofessional-gym and get connected to Not Katy.  She says “Oh, I remember you!  Are you sure you paid? Everyone who paid has their name crossed off a list and your name is not crossed off.”  While I jog her memory about the pink bobby pin and revisit the definition of ‘remember’, I explain that it is possible that there may be a flaw in the gym’s ultra high-tech accounting procedures.  And then I ask to speak to a manager.

SPICOLI: Oh, shit! Are you serious?

ME:  Um, yes. I will forward you the email for your reference. What’s your email?

SPICOLI:  Oh, I’m not laughing because I don’t believe you, I’m laughing because that’s crazy.

ME: What’s your email?

SPICOLI:  The accountant is out for the weekend.

ME: Then I should email it to you so you have it on file when she gets back on Monday.

SPICOLI:  But she won’t be back until Monday.

ME: So I will just forward it back to the email I got it from.

SPICOLI:  Yeah, yeah. And I will totally hook you up with a t-shirt the next time you come in.

Yes, that’s a great idea. Because I want a souvenir to remember you by.

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