Gym, Rats!

There are only two criteria that go into choosing a gym: hospitality and hotness. The big H’s that go into most decisions that I make in my life. My gym closed and relocated to a farther destination and I decided to see what other gyms were in my close vicinity.

Choosing a gym is a serious decision. It’s like choosing a second home. After several weeks of cautious deliberating, I called ahead of time and made an appointment with a nearby gym.

I walk in and I say, “Hi! I’m here for an appointment.”

The Neanderthal-looking douche bag behind the counter says sarcastically, “Ummm. Could you be more specific?”

Hmmm. Well, let’s see. We are at a gym. I have a gym bag on my shoulder. So, I say, “Ya. I’m here for my colonoscopy appointment. Is Dr. Roto-Rooter in, you dumb fuck?”

DISCLAIMER: I did not say this, but instead I say, “Um. I made an appointment for a gym membership.”

Douche bag curtly says, “Well, who was it with? Jimbo? Dumbo? Tardo?” (Okay. Those are probably not the names he said, but at this point, it should be clear that I do not recall the name of the person I have an appointment with. Naming arbitrary names does nothing to help the situation.)

I say, “I don’t remember his name.”

This is where douche bag gets really upset by the complicated problem he is faced with and with no credible solution to solve this challenging conundrum, he grunts, shakes his head in annoyed frustration, and stomps away.

I’m not fucking kidding.

Then the pudgy girl behind the counter steps up and says, “Oh. You must be here for Jimbo’s (who knows the name?) appointment. He’s not here. Something came up. He won’t be in until Monday. I’m covering for him.”

Silence.

I say, “Okay.”

She says, “What did you want?”

“A membership! I want to join a gym!”

She says, “Oh. Well, it’s going to be $39.00 a month.”

Silence.

More silence. And she’s staring at me.

Now, I’m completely in shock. This is how you sell shit to people? A blind, deaf, dumb, mute, semi-unconscious chimpanzee sells shit better than that.

I say, “That’s it? That’s what you’re going to tell me? This is the membership meeting?”

Her response: “Yup.”

No one shows me around the gym. No one tries to tell me about any specials or deals. My membership meeting was over in 30 seconds.

This is when I turn around, get in my car, and drive the extra 15 to 20 minutes to get to my relocated gym.

On my drive over there, I replay the incident in my head. I may have been more lenient if the gym staff had been hotter, which finally brings me to the second H.

When I walk into my gym, I want to see hot smiling people behind the counter. The gym staff should, by visual cues alone, encourage the rest of the gym to strive for a better life full of hotness. If you’re going to be a lazy incompetent dick, you better be smoking hot. It’s almost acceptable. If I see people behind the counter with worse bodies than my own, I will not be motivated. I’ll turn the fuck around and speed to the nearest Krispy Kreme Doughnuts.

This is what I was faced with: two non-hot inhospitable assholes.

Remember the two H’s: Hospitality and Hotness. It’s important for these important life decisions.

(I’m still searching for another gym.)