Friday, April 3, 2009

Don't be a Darryl

I was at the gym today. I wanted to work my arms and chest with cables; however, they were being used so I waited patiently for those using them to finish their sets. After a few moments, a guy completes his set and leaves the cables open for the taking. I don't know this guy, but I'll call him Darryl for the sake of the story. As I'm starting my second set, Darryl returns - clearly perturbed. It appears Darryl had only left to go grab a swig of water, and now Darryl wants his cables back! But apparently Darryl doesn't know proper gym etiquette; if you leave a machine that you're not finished using, you leave a towel or a water bottle or your keys or a plate of oatmeal cookies or anything you happen to have on you at the time next to or on the machine to notify other patrons "I'm not quite finished with this just yet." Darryl, of course, left not a damn thing.

Now Darryl could simply have said, "hey man, you mind if I do one more set?" or "dude, is it cool if I work in with you?" and I would have kindly obliged him. Instead, Darryl huffed and puffed and pouted and moaned and groaned and sighed and snorted and stared and scowled and made his very best effort to make it crystal clear that he was upset! without ever actually using the English language. At one point while I was between sets, he even stood in front of one of the cables to physically block me from picking it up again. 'Course the manner in which Darryl was acting did not sit well with me, and there was no way I was gonna let this superdouche get his way. I nonchalantly stared right past him, hands on hips, not acknowledging his behavior in the least. I then went about finishing my sets. Darryl moped a little more and finally walked away with his tail between his legs.

Out of sheer coincidence, the exact same thing happened five minutes later on the pectoral fly bench (in a completely different section of the gym). I finish my first set and whose face greets me when I look up? None other than that of my good friend Darryl, giving me that 'I-can't-believe-you-forgot-to-put-the-toilet-seat-down-again' look. "I just started here", he mumbles after an awkward moment. Whatever... I get up and leave the baby with his rattle; I'm through with this toolshed. Hey, at least he spoke this time...

I absolutely can't stand it when people expect you to know what they're thinking. I would much rather have someone tell me that he/she thinks I'm an asshole than to have the person leave me guessing as to what their true feelings about me are. The point of this seemingly pointless story: if you have something to say then, for Christ's sake, say it.


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