Empty spaces fill me up with rage

Hell is other people; never is this more true than at the gym. If there isn’t a flexing jerkoff around, flitting from bench to machine to mirror like a hummingbird on roids, it’s one of the 30 or so idiots that work there, I don’t know how they afford so many employee/trainers.

The other evening a hot girl and I arrived at the same time and shared the same area of the expansive gym floor. (Hotties to me are nothing but commodities to be afforded later in life. Other than ass they have nothing else I need or want except their perpetual absence). Like the other 12 or so hotties that attend the gym, “Tits” either worked there or arrived joined at the hip with some juicehead who had yet to make his appearance.

I got no vibe from her but she was making quite the spectacle of herself, alternating between doing light weight sets then picking up a fucking jump rope. Now jumping rope is a great way to make your heart explode if you don’t have a shotgun, but whipping it around a la Rocky Balboa takes up a lot of space. Why this idiot had to do this in the free weight area…I guess it was just convenient, plus it was just the two of us.

Until her fine young man joined the fray.

When “Crewcut” touched the small of her back in greeting I imagined strangling them both with the jump rope. I’d even have a choice of which rope to use: that’s right, Crewcut brought his own rope and was doing the same irritating routine as Tits: lift, rope, lift, rope. I didn’t like having to walk around the huge whipping spheres of motion they created. They only jumped rope at the same time. How cute!

One of my strategies to reduce contact with the jerks is to select a bench far up the row of free weights lining the mirrored wall. Not many dudes casually pick up any dumbbells over 100. However, Crewcut found a reason to saunter down to my end and pick up the 85s. He then stood in place in front of the rack, dumbbell in each hand, doing a faggoty shoulder-shrug. In doing so he partially blocked my magnificent view of myself in the mirror-wall, where I practiced throwing that same look that Eddie Murphy gives the camera in Trading Places after the “BLT” line. You know the one: the director had Murphy do over 30 takes to get that look just right. It paid off, and I was still practicing mine when Crewcut finally went back to his jump-rope,-baby-dumbbell-titties-spandex-maiden.

Was he fucking with me by coming over to where I was? Trying to be Alpha? The part of me that wanted to kick the shit out of him thought so. Otherwise, to hell with him.

What prompted me to even comment on these two loveturds is that they quit the free weight area at almost the exact same time I did. When I came out of the locker room I found them shooting hoops in the glass fishtank half-court. I felt the urge to kill them both, always do when the timing of life is off. You mean, these two assholes finished their routine at the same time I did, even though Crewcut arrived 10 minutes later than Tits, and now where all 3 of us had been in each others’ way for over 35 minutes there was NO ONE occupying the area?

I felt the same ridiculous paranoid rage I do when waiting in line for something involving a long counter of multiple tellers or clerks and two of them open up at the same time. Not only does this make me mad that I gain no advantage from being one place ahead of the doof behind me, it just seems unlikely that two different people with two different situations ahead of me would finish in perfect synchronization.

The moral of the story is what it will always be on this planet: Hell is other people. If I’m ever a floating soul in front of a judging God or Jesus or 3 Stooges, I’ll tell them the exact same thing, it’s the finest sentence ever written: Hell is other people. I never bothered to make it a quoticle. This sentiment should shine through in all the work I do.



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2 Responses to “Empty spaces fill me up with rage”

  1. Digital Howie Says:

    You shouldn’t even be a member of this gym. Yes, Hell is other people but if you place yourself among them then that’s Hell you’re giving yourself. Just work out at home. Push-ups. Or buy a weight bench. My disgust with humanity is so great I only go out for: work, food, doc visits and clothes buying. I only have to deal with check out clerks, mostly. Of course, the Hell of co-workers is a constant. 40 hours a week with them definitely wears one out, seeing the same faces for 40 hours a week, 52 weeks a year, for 20 years now. I know more about them than about my own family.

  2. ygrii Says:

    After years of trying to find a niche for myself in the corporate world, I gave up. Now I drive a truck. It’s perfect. I have to interact with only two people every day. The rest of the time I’m alone, all all alone. I spend my days off locked in my home, surfing the net, reading, writing, whatever I want. I keep the TV turned off and it’s so quiet and peaceful and absolutely perfect.

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