Flirting with Fitness

Her large brown eyes sparkled as she slipped her hand into mine and said, “Hi, I’m Sandy.” She exuded a voluptuous and vibrant aura of fitness completely devoid of the angular lines and emaciated form of what seems to pass for health these days. Sandy’s teeth were perfect and her complexion flawless. I was about to do the unthinkable. I was about to let this attractive young woman sell me a fitness club membership!

She assured me that every member of their team was devoted to my health and fitness. We toured the club, side by side, as she pointed out the state-of-the-art equipment and described the various exercise classes and strongly recommended that I work one on one with one of their personal trainers. The place was clean and the shower/locker rooms were immaculate. Plasma screens, Bloomberg terminals and web access (in case over-exertion should move me to blog) were conveniently placed around the facility. The pungent smells of sweat and bleach mingled with the herbal fragrance she wore. Growing weaker by the minute, I was falling hopelessly under her get-fit spell.

In the end I told her that I would have to think about it and I left to buy some lunch – a PB&J on wheat with a grape soda. Poor Sandy is too young and naïve to know the hard brutal truth. Fit, attractive young women are not the way to lure flabby middle-aged men into a fitness club. Today I was protected by my work clothing. She may have her suspicions, but the last thing I want to do is prove to her that I am a fat pasty old guy by getting into workout clothes. I have my pride and my fantasies.

If anyone can refer me to a health club where the staff are all obese and elderly I am ready to join.

Stalling for Time

I need to find a new favorite stall. I don’t know how many other people are like me, but if I am any place for any length of time (like a job that is not located in my garage) I eventually have to use the restroom. And, in a relatively short period of time, I pick a favorite stall from among those available. I know it is not mine exclusively, but I like to pretend. I usually pick a handicapped stall, not for the extra room but because the door swings outward. In the movies, every time someone gets caught and beat up in a toilet stall, the door comes crashing in on him – did you ever notice that? If the door swings out you have an advantage in a situation like that. Today is the second time I have found my favorite stall violated. I suspect the same person is responsible, because both crime scenes presented the same M.O. – an unflushed bowl. The guy is probably an artist, or a don’t-look-back type. If the door swung in I would ambush him. Today there was even some seat-top residue and even though the bowls are cleaned and disinfected daily I will never be able to use that stall again.

Do you remember when someone thought up the heated toilet seat? A lot of people thought that was a great invention. Not me. If the seat is warm, then the assumption is that someone’s rear has just been there. If the seat is cold, you can pretend no other butt ever sat there.

Tom and Betsy

Like oxygen, nutrition and water, caffeine has become one of the necessary elements of my day. It seems to ward off headaches and a nagging sense of incompleteness. The only acceptable form of ingestion for me is coffee. I take it with a little 2% milk. I make a cup at home first thing, before the crack of dawn and just about the time my marathon-running neighbors are headed out for a run. That is the cup I savor alone. Then, usually around 10:00, my coffee pals and I leave the building to get some coffee. My coffee pals are Tom and Betsy. Although we work in the same place we do not work together. Tom is married with children; Betsy is single and claims that all the good men are married. It is a short walk, but we find time to talk and laugh. Yesterday we found out that Betsy had previously worked at the U.N. and for NATO. That’s the way it is with your coffee pals – always something new to learn about them. I can’t wait for 10:00.

Do I know you?

As I was walking down the street today, I made eye contact with a dapper man who smiled at me in recognition. (I often hear people mutter my name as they pass me on the sidewalk, but that is another matter.) So, fearful of offending someone I should remember, I returned his smile as he veered in my direction. He had the look of someone who used to drink and smoke heavily. He pressed his finger to the button hole in his throat and squeaked/wheezed: "I think I know you from somewhere, I am sorry you have to see me in this condition." I asked him where he thought he knew me from and we went back and forth a few times before he concluded that he did not know me. He smiled, apologized, spun on his heels and tottered away. I have the feeling I have not seen the last of this little man.

Great News - Berto Is Back!

With terrorists lurking behind every artificial plant, the first thing I do when I get a new job is to get on a first name basis with one of the security guards. You know, just in case the shooting starts I want the guy with the gun to know I am a friendly.

I had been chatting up Berto for quite a while; I picked him because he was the only guard who appeared fit enough not to have a heart attack if bullets did start flying. Anyway, one day last November Berto was gone. Maybe a vacation or illness? As the days passed I grew more and more concerned and finally asked the dour uniformed woman with the platinum blonde dye job if she knew what happened to Berto. She looked at me like she didn’t know what I was talking about.

Months passed, no Berto. Only recently had I resigned myself to chatting up another security guard (those terrorists are still lurking). Then today, as I strolled out for lunch, who should be standing at the escalator kiosk, but Berto himself. It turns out his gun card expired and, evidently, the State lost the first renewal form he sent. The company told him to stay home until he had a valid gun card. He was home almost 4 months – without pay! That is a pretty lousy deal and, let’s not forget, he had possession of his gun the whole time! I was very glad to have him back and told him so.

I voted today

The primaries are today. I stopped by before work to do my civic duty. The problem with primaries is that there are only names on the ballot. No issues, just names. Without my reading glasses the names look very similar. And those circles you have to fill in look really fuzzy. If you declare your party affiliation, you don't even get to see the names of the enemy.

So I looked for names similar to mine, or like those of long forgotten girlfriends and high school vice-principals.

All the polling place volunteers were so nice. They appear to be retired from real work and someone had brought them doughnuts and coffee, so there was much to rejoice about. Maybe I will retire and work at the polling place. It's a long day, but it is only a couple days a year.