Idiots on Parade

If you want to see a parade of idiots, look no further than your local gym. Yeah, yeah, I know -gyms are intimidating. I wouldn't dream of hanging out in the free weight section. But really, it is astounding the number of idiots at the gym. As I trudged along on an elliptical machine in the second row today, I had the perfect view of the fourth machine in the first row with the "out of order" sign prominently displayed on the computer screen. Now, you know a lot of people got excited about what appeared to be an open machine, got their things arranged, and then realized, "oops, it's out of order." These people are not the idiots. Sometimes it takes a few moments to realize the situation. It would be the pot calling the kettle black if I got on their case about it. The idiot was the fifth person who started arranging his stuff on the "out of order" machine. He put his water bottle in the holder, threw a towel around the one of the handles. But he didn't stop there. This guy got on the machine, fired it up, and started striding. For five minutes, I watched this guy working out on a machine with this "out of order" sign half blocking the display panel. Do I need to add that this guy was dressed in khaki pants and a polo shirt? Totally bizarre. This particular Washington Sports Club must have some seriously apathetic employees because no one said boo. And as far as I know, this guy was still strolling away long after I left (my five minutes of utter disbelief only ended because my workout was done).

I found another such idiot at the mat when I was doing my crunches. This sweaty guy was all over one of those ab balls, muttering things like, "I really need to go home. I'm really tired . . ." to anyone that would listen. I could hear his caveman speak through George Michael on my iPod. This poor girl next to him was trying desperately to escape. I could see the look of panic on her face as I ran to the locker room. What a weirdo.

My friend Carrie used to workout in the little apartment complex-style gym in our office building. According to legend, there was a woman from the building that would work out in pink sponge rollers. Huh? I know this little gym is shady, Lady, but this is not your personal rec room. One time, one little pink sponge roller played stowaway in this woman's hair in the elevator on the way back up to the offices after lunch. I can't remember whether Carrie said anything. I know I wouldn't have. I mean, if you're parading around in rollers in the public gym, why not the office?