There are always funny little things that are peppered along our daily lives, that when looked at retrospectively, are a little odd. Like when you are on a narrow path, and you do the little OH-AH-HAHA! OH-AH-HAHA! jig until one of you finally gets bored and let’s the other past, or when you are in a confined space and someone with blaring earphones in, begins to sing…and you just have to stare forward and pretend it isn’t happening, or when someone has a t-shirt on with a lot of interesting text…so, naturally you want to read it (maybe it has vital information on it!?) – but you look like a Creepbot 3000 and have to avert your eyes, or when…well, I have many more – but I don’t want to divulge too much, in case these tidbits of weirdness are things that I alone suffer with!
Man I am so awkward, apologies! No, don’t apologise…you don’t want to seem weak, why do you always do this to us?!! Say nothing…don’t be sorry, look tough, like you don’t really care what people think…they don’t have feelings…neither do you…that’s it, you are a rock, a human rock – eyes forward, less redness in the cheeks, red isn’t tough…don’t smile at all…why are tears forming? Keep it up…
Urgh. Well, safe to say, there are always little amusing interludes to the daily grind, whether they occur in our heads or outside of them is largely irrelevant! This is a story, a little like those I just mentioned…but way, way, way (a lot of ways, but I figure you get the picture already) worse. The dangle dance, as I have dubbed it, is a considerably more horrifying creature than those little occurrences could ever aspire to be…
It all happened when I was at the gym, the dreaded gym. It has became both an everyday feature of my existence, but also the bane of it. What a horrible paradox to encounter every day, especially when I insist on eating so much fried foods almost immediately after it…but it is usually meat, so err…protein energy, for the muscle growing-ness, of the…yeah, yeah I know, whatever.
Everyday I step in there, and unfortunately the personal trainer guy has taken to speaking to me – this usually happens at gyms, as most will know, they come up and want to pretend like they are just chatting to you, they’ll be all “did you see this movie?” or “John, you’re looking well!” and you reply you didn’t watch the movie, even though you did – and you know they are lying about you looking well, because you just sweated a swimming pool, and also you wonder how they know your name all of a sudden?! Because you know it isn’t really friendly, it is just pretend friendly…the massive elephant in the room is you – you are the big fat elephant, and this personal trainer is trying to grease you up with compliments, and friendly chat – so he can charge you a gazillion gold coins, in exchange for him screaming orders at you, “pick this up, put this down, don’t eat, pull this, stop being sick…” But you can’t just say, “FUCK OFF PLEASE, THANK YOU.” That would be terribly rude, so instead you are forced to engage in these tedious conversations, and you are pressured into creating new excuses every time as to why you won’t be taking him up on his offer. I thought I would be free from these shackles at a Korean gym…but oh no, the personal trainer can speak English! Yesterday I found myself spending 40 minutes on a treadmill, even though I hate any form of cardio exercise, just waiting till he moved from the main weights section. This is my life for the foreseeable future.
This wasn’t even supposed to be about that, guess I just had to get it off my chest…my big, fat, flabby, man-boob chest…maybe I should just sign up with him. NO, I AM A TOUGH HUMAN ROCK, GODDAMMIT!
On the day in question I had narrowly dodged Shaun the personal trainer, maybe I would get away one of those conversations today…I sure hoped so. I still had my headphones on, and my eyes glued to the floor when I entered the changing room – this had been my way in which to slip by largely unnoticed – as I turned the corner the usual smell of men’s changing rooms hit me like a shovel to the nostrils; a damp, sweaty odor – the scent of unwashed privates, layered with cheap deodorant.
If the morning coffee hadn’t woke me up, then this sure did the trick. It was so strong, my eyes began to weep…
With my head still down, I turned another narrow corner, and bumped into someone – the greasy shower sweat combination clung to my clean clothes, I nodded in the mandatory “it’s fine” fashion, and stepped to the right…he stepped to the right…I stepped to the left…he stepped to the left, I looked up and was met with a wrinkly old man – OH GOD DON’T MAKE A BIG DEAL OF THE PENIS SITUATION – I smiled my best, and most convincing fake smile, as if I wasn’t freaked out, or mortified – and politely stepped to the right, but he went the same way again…argh! Left again, nope he stepped left again! When would this stop?! He chuckled, as I accidentally caught sight of the…errr…thing again…maybe this was a perverse joy for him, maybe he was waiting around the corner and he gets his kicks from it. I laughed, but looked to the distance so there was no way I would be able to sneak a glimpse of his grey testicles again, we did the little dangle dance once more before I pushed past him…there is only so much a person you can take – if we went by his rules we would be there doing a little penis cha-cha for the rest of the day.
On a totally unrelated side note – his grandfather cock, got me thinking about grandfather clocks…is that where they get their name from? Did a clock-maker have a similar run in like this, and it gave him a rather fruity idea? Because so far, that makes a lot of sense to me…no? Hmm…alright.
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John Lee Taggart 