Hahahaha, how true is this??
Good gyms are hard to find.
I want a lot of good equipment; space to move and play, a staff that doesn't come unglued if you do any kettle bell stuff and some place that is clean and decent. But I also realize that it is often the members that ruin a club visit and not the owner or staff.
Working out on the road is by the way always an adventure in the bizarre. Based on too many workouts done in alien clubs, I have come to the conclusion that there are now many more disgusting members working out than in past years. Here are my rules for the tribe of pathetic, nasty gym losers that give a struggling local owner a bad name:
You, the poseur! I don't care who you used to be. I don't care that you used to be big, were tough, scored a few touchdowns in high school or were the meanest guy in your fraternity. Dude, you are now in your 30s and you are a disgusting mess. Finally, by all that is holy in the fitness business, lose the string tank top. No one, and I mean not even the woman who has just walked out of prison after 30 years, really thinks that tuff of gray, scruffy chest hair works for you. You are fat, your kids are fat, your woman is fatter and those meaty arms you are so proud of are 13 inches of muscle surrounded by 4 inches of jiggling hamburger fat. Get a shirt, put down the bench press, walk away from the leg press and try a little full bodywork.
You, stinky man! There is no excuse to stink when you work out. Here is an idea stinky boy; try a clean tee shirt or shower before you work out, try some deodorant and stay away from too much garlic. You stink, we know it, and we hate you.
You stinky girl! Perfume is nice if I am drunk and it is 2:00 o'clock in the morning. Perfume is offensive if I am working out and you are standing next to me at 6:00 in the evening. As before, you stink, it is not sexy, it isn't your personal style and you are killing us out here.
You, old man in the running shorts! Reality check here for you old guy. Yes, you have had those shorts for 16 years and we know you take great pride in wearing the same outfit every day year after year, but you are scrawny, have a bony chicken ass and any short cut that high on the side lets far too many people see junk that was out of service when Carter was president.
You, body builder dude! Screaming is stupid. If you can't put it down, then don't pick it up and leaving plates on the leg press doesn't mean your huge, it means you have the penis of a sterile chipmunk. Grunting, dropping weights, leaving bars stacked, carrying jugs of green nasty crap and wearing 1990s clothes is not cool but only validates why there are only seven bodybuilders left in America.
You, horny boy! Women come to the club to have private time, get a workout in, relax without pressure and to enjoy just a few minutes of me time a day. They aren't there as your personal stable of potential dates that are sweating for your pleasure. Don't stare, don't flirt, don't wait for them in the parking lot and don't ask them out ever.
You, cell phone idiot! I don't care if you are the president of the biggest financial company on Wall Street. Talking big and loudly on a cell in the club is poor taste and only confirms that your daddy gave you the job because you are a moron. Have to take the call? Then walk away to the lounge but I do not want to sit two feet away from you and here your call. If you can't live without the phone then workout at home where you can irritate your future ex wife and leave the rest of us alone.
You, spit fool! Whatever possessed you to think that hocking up a goober the size of a house cat and then spitting it into the drinking fountain is socially acceptable? Do you really do this at home? Do you do this at work? Are you just f@#$%*ing stupid?
You, BMW boy! Hey nice you can finally afford that new 7 series car but parking it across two parking spaces so it won't get dinged is like putting a sign on it inviting anyone with anything sharp to gouge every inch of paint you have. Two spaces? Park it way out in the lot and enjoy the walk.
You, fat girl! It is your fault you are fat. Stop blaming your ex, your boss, your genes, your job, your kids, the trainers and your life. If you are wearing it then you ate it and you won't lose it until you move it. Weight is not accidental, it is usually an insidious process that takes years and only one person in the world can change the course, and that is the owner of the big jiggle herself.
You, lying members! You signed a membership agreement with the club and now you are too lazy to workout so you lie to the staff because you don't want to pay anymore. Try a little personal responsibility here and pay for what you signed for. Clubs are not gold mines, all those cars don't mean a lot of money and you are a liar that would be indignant if that happened in your business.
You, seat saver! Hurray, you got to class early but do not try and save bikes in the front for all your friends. One member, one bike and let the next person in take their own chances. You drive members away by being rude and you aren't paying nearly enough for the owner not to throw your ass out.
And the rest of you rude members out there, pick up your garbage, don't pee on the seat lids you disgusting human piece of trash, don't flush your personal thingies down the stool, don't leave gum in the urinals, wipe the sweat off the benches, don't shower and then get your soaking wet ass on a scale, don't stand there naked lecturing me abut the economy, don't hog three pieces of equipment because you just read about tri-sets in a magazine and don't by any chance try and offer advice because you have been working out wrongly for 15 years.
Owners have hard enough time without trying to make adults out of immature idiots who have no respect for anyone around them. Be courteous, be nice and help make the club a decent and enjoyable place to go.
And most importantly, to you fart boy, you might be the rudest of them all. There is a special room in hell for you populated by hundreds of flagellant factory workers amped up on cheap beer, hot wings and shots of bourbon just waiting to blow you into eternity.
