Women are like a different species, apparently.
I meet all sorts working in the gym - from the ultra-buff, to the semi-fit, to the people who have no real intention of making any real life changes to get healthy.
The woman I’m about to tell you about falls into that last category.
At my gym anybody signing up has the option to meet with a trainer for free. You get one free session which is basically a big sales pitch and we show you a few exercises and let you decide whether to give us money or not.
I’m waiting on my client to come in after my morning shift (that I foolishly scheduled for an hour after I finished said shift…) when in walks a woman who looks like Tumblr’s butt blew a bubble. To give you the whole picture:
- Orange and blue hair. Orange. And. Blue.
- No visible neck, just a fat roll underneath what I surmise used to be a chin
- A white “impeach Trump” T-shirt, about 4 sizes too small (mentioned to give you the picture, not because I agree/disagree with it) and a belly drooping out in front
- A pair of pants that were so many sizes too small that her ass didn’t fit all the way into them
- Sandals. At the fucking gym
Now that you picture what she looks like, please bear in mind that I didn’t give a shit about her appearance until AFTER she’d opened her gaping maw.
Unbeknownst to me, my manager was in the kid’s play area and listened to every word. If you ask yourself why she didn’t intervene/interfere/step in, it’s because she lets me handle things as I see fit and in exchange I do my absolute best for her. (I have an attitude here that arouses most retail managers - I consider it MY gym, and I take responsibility accordingly.) Besides, there was a baby in the other room she wanted to interact with.
**For those of you who haven’t been reading my blog very long (you lucky reader) understand that sentences in italics are ones that I didn’t say out loud.**
Her: I want to talk to a trainer.
Me: You’re in luck! I am a trainer.
Her: No, a female trainer. You wouldn’t understand how a woman’s body works.
I wonder if I should tell my other clients [ALL FEMALE] that I couldn’t possibly understand how their body works and despite the results they’re getting they have to find a new trainer?
Me: OK then. Here’s the signup sheet for [female trainer] she’ll get back to you in a week or two when she gets back from her cruise.
Her: I was promised a free session with a trainer!
Me: And you’ll get it. When she gets back from her vacation.
Her: Well let me see your other female trainer then.
Me: There is no other female trainer. There’s just me and her.
Her: Well what do we do then?
Me: Well we wait for [the female trainer] to come back from vacation. Just put your name down on the sheet and she’ll call you when she gets back.
Her: *sigh* I guess I could do the session with you. You can set me up with a workout routine until she gets back and can help me do it right.
You bitch. You can fuck right off.
**Note** I understand having a gender preference with a trainer. And I encourage it because I’d rather somebody be comfortable. But to be nasty about it? Unacceptable.
Me: Ooooooooh noooooooo! I couldn’t possibly!
Her: But I was promised a free session!
Me: And you’ll get it. When she gets back from vacation. And not before.
Her: YOU WILL GIVE ME MY FREE SESSION!
She really did yell. And for those of you who perhaps don’t work with the general public and are instead just a member of said general public let me give you the best tip of all to get what you want: Just be a decent human.
But since this walking asteroid wanted to yell and pitch a fit and just generally be a nasty hag, I wasn’t going to bend a bit.
Me: Nope! I couldn’t possibly even begin to fathom how a woman’s body works. No understanding here! Can’t help you! But if you put your name down on the signup -
At this point I believe I awoke the beast. She slammed her hands down on the counter, then grabbed a stack of business cards and chucked them at me - or so she tried but she missed horribly because she managed to catch her arm on something and they fluttered past me.
I’ve had enough, and Jokin’ John has gone away.
Me: Out. Leave.
Her: You can’t kick me out.
I absolutely can.
I picked up the phone, dialed the police non-emergency number while she stood there glaring at me. I’m not going to fight with her, I’ll just have her removed if she won’t go on her own.
Me, to the police: Hello, I’ve got a young lady here by the name of [Hammus Obeastialis] that I’ve asked to leave after she decided to throw things at me. Would you send somebody over to help her go? Thanks.
She didn’t believe that I’d called.
So she stood there glaring at me until an officer (who is also a member) arrived. The officer informed her that yes, I could ask her to leave and that yes, she did have to go. I was kind enough to say she could come back tomorrow when she’d calmed down.
It’s about the only kindness she’ll get from me. I don’t have to accept anybody as a client, even for the free session. This is the first retail job where I don’t have to eat shit every time somebody gets uppity.
And that makes me want to do even better for the place.
Picking up Lords of Magic on Steam for $4.99 was not a bad choice. Not a bad game, just kind of a steep learning curve. -J