Fate Tells Me "Don't Go to the Gym." But...fuck fate.Submitted by WillZone at 2003-11-06 09:33:05 EST
Rating: 1.73 on 57 ratings (57 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
When you walk down a New York City street, you are almost guaranteed to be flooded with postcards, coupons, flyers, and business cards for just about everything. There’s Men’s Suits on sale today. Some standup comic needs to get people to go to his shows. Porno places have porno postcards advertising their wears. A painter hands out a business card, hoping and praying for a phone call. You can’t miss it.
As a person who has handed out postcards on the corner I know how difficult it is to get people to just take the card, let alone go to your show or sale. When I hand out cards, I give them to everyone I see. Families. Business types. tourists. Blue collar guys on the job. dog walkers. cell phone talker. I leave no human un-carded…cause, you never know who they are and what they are into. Maybe that Asian tourist group really does want to see an improv show at 11PM on a Monday night…you never know. The rule is, give a post card to everyone.
Which brings me to my point. My story. My rant.
I’m walking down Park ave, it’s a beautiful day. I’m not listening to music, I’m taking in the city. Up ahead of me I notice a guy with postcards. I’m intrigued. I see that everyone in front of me is getting a card and he’s got a mammoth stack in his hands. He’s right outside of some gym, and he’s in, what appears to be, work-out clothes. A wardrobe that is completely foreign to me. These are the same clothes that I wear around the house before bed, during sleep time and when I wake up. Those are my work-out clothes. I guess the old saying is true….One’s mans gym shorts is another mans pajama bottom.
I lost myself there. Back to the story.
So now I’m excited. I’m gonna get a postcard! I find they are fun to read up until I get to the next trash can. Only once in a blue moon will I keep the card more than 2 minutes after I get it. But, I think fate was involved with this particular situation.. See, I’ve been putting some serious thought into the idea of going to a gym. I know a lot of people who can’t stop raving about the good its done to their lives. More energy. Starts the day nice and early…lose weight, feel great. The whole nine. So, I’ve been reading up on gyms and costs, and figuring out if I have the will (zone) power to do it. So this was a perfect opportunity for me to see what this gym was offering.
Enter Mr. Fate.
I’m sure to maneuver myself so I’m right in the line of fire of this guys postcard stance. I smile as I see the 3 or 4 people ahead of me get their postcard and read it as they stroll down Park Ave. My turn. I’m about 10 feet away from the guy. My hand prematurely reaches out for a postcard. The guy, not even looking into my eyes, but seeing my reach, turns his body around and avoids my outstretched hand. A missed handoff. Should I turn around? Should I stop and ask the guy for a postcard? I ponder this as I get to the corner.
I want that damn postcard. Dude denied me. I’m going back. I make it seem like I forgot something (like anyone cares or notices) and turn around and head back for Muscles. Again, I’m lined up. 5 feet away. I have eye contact now. I go for the card and he fucking denies me again. I pass him, hands empty.
What? Did I wrong this man? Did he assume I was too fat to join a gym? I was convinced and hurt by this realization. Too fat to join a gym? Aren’t I the key clientele? I hang down the at the end of the block and watch this man work. I see a fat woman, busting out at the seams, and this dude makes an extra effort to get a postcard in her hands. That’s it. I’m peeved. I’m taking another pass. I deserve a postcard.
Again. Eye contact. Hand outward. DE-fucking-Nied! I’m furious. This guy is gonna get a piece of an angry Zone.
“Hi, Can I get a postcard?” I state with a fake smile.
“No? Don’t you want my business?”
“Actually, No.” he says with a smile.
“Why, am I too fat for your gym?" I begin to rant and rave, "Sorry that my body needs the kind of work that only a facility like yours can provide. Sorry that I like to eat…..”
“Calm down, sir.”
“Calm down? I am calm. I’m cool. I’m as cool as the fucking ice storm in your black little heart. Give me a damn postcard.”
“No. I’m sorry sir. This card is not for you.” He says as he hands a card to beautiful blonde business woman.
Friends. I’ve never been so angry and confused. This guy must think that I raped his mother while shooting his children, he's so mad at me.
“Well, I’m taking one anyway.” and I rip a postcard from his hands. I don’t even read it till I’m out of his sight.
I smile. I’ve won. But no Zoney my boy, you are King Loser. I now realize why I’m not supposed to have this card. It reads:
"Special: Ladies Only Discount."
I’m a tool.
Oh uber, what I wouldn’t do to take that moment back....or become a woman! [whew, what a breakthru!]
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