The GymIt was Monday morning and JDubya had got up much earlier than usual to try to get fit. It was desperately close to his holiday so he knew he had to overdo it. If he could make it to the gym before work today he stood a chance of lasting till lunchtime during the first day of the forthcoming ski trip.
It had been over six months since his last visit and he remembered that there was always a queue for the cross trainer, his chosen method of self inflicted exhaustion. In an attempt to foil the regulars, he had slipped through the entrance a full ten minutes before opening time and hurredly made his way into the changing room. To his horror, the regulars were already there. The builder with a bandaged knee, the old codger with an Irish Accent and a new bloke, already to go with Ipod headphones already making him oblivious to JDubya's mumbled 'Good morn...'
He almost dived to the nearest locker. Towel and clean clothes thrown in, pound coin inserted, lock turned, key extracted. Jogging now, out of the changing room and into the gym. His machine, for that's how he thought of it in spite of his long absence, was unoccupied. He quickly took his position and the old schoolyard chant ran through his head. "I'm the king of the castle, you're the dirty rascals". Soon the childish victory song was replaced by the sounds from the TV as the Aerobics Oz Style program was switched on by 'new bloke'. He'd never seen it before and was held mesmerised by the young women doing their exercises on the beach. It didn't seem natural. How could they perpetually smile while contorting themselves in such a way?
He told himself that this distraction had been beneficial. The five minutes he had pre-programmed onto the machine had passed without him noticing them. He'd failed to hear the beep when the machine tried to tell him that his time was up, and as he glanced down now, he saw that twenty minutes had passed and his heart rate was dangerously high. More than double his normal 'at rest' rate. He was certain that it shouldn't be that high. so stumbled off the machine and back to the changing room.
The regulars josteled for position, not actually making physical or even eye contact, but by purposefully striding towards the machine made their hostile intentions known and it was only at the last second that one man deviated from the path and stepped across the adjacent rowing machine in a classic Freudian defense move.
JDubya headed for the steam room. It had been newly refurbished and had LED lighting in the ceiling and a strange transparent rock in the corner which periodically changed colour and threw patterns onto the expensive tiled seating. He knew he could cool down there. The steam room rarely rose above room temperature so he could relax and literally chill out.
After some time, his heart rate had returned to normal and grudgingly he stood up, knowing that this was the first move towards getting to work. The regulars were already in the changing room and chatting about shopping trolleys.
"There are three of them in the carpark outside Sainburys" said the builder. "They take the trolleys back and get the pound coins that people leave inside. Sainsburys don't like it, but what can they do?" he gestured with a shrug of the shoulders.
The old codger chipped in. "There's a pensioner who takes the trolleys back at ASDA too. They stopped him and asked why he did it. He said it was for the exercise, but I think it was for the pound coins".
As an afterthought he added "I sometimes find pound coins in these lockers!"
JDubya had had a similar experience and nodded knowingly. Months ago, he had put his pound into the slot of the locker and when he opened it found two. He'd pocketed the extra coin and a week later had forgotton to take the money when removing his clothes. He'd broken even.
Time for work, but first he needed a shower. Builder and 'new bloke' had already packed their sports bags and headed out of the door. Old codger had started to talk about Ireland and JDubya found it both hard to keep track of and irritating. He had to get to work soon or he would be late. He tried to make a closing comment to shut the old guy up, but failed in his efforts the first couple of times because the poor chap was mostly deaf and JDubya's words echoed round the changing room like announcements on a station platform. After saying something inane in agreement to an observation about a pub in Dublin (to which he had never been), he made his move to the shower.
Three minutes later he emerged, returned to his locker barely a metre away and dried himself. The old chap had already left so he removed his clothes from the locker and got dressed in peace.
Just before leaving the changing room he put his fingers into the coin reject cup inside the locker and found that his pound had gone.
Tuesday.
The old codger seemed suprised when his cheery "Lovely Mornin" was greeted by a growl.
JDubya failed to beat the regulars, one of whom was already on 'his machine' and the other staring at it meaningfully. There was a queue and he wouldn't be able to jump it. It was still ten minutes before opening time and he realised two things; the regulars would not be caught out ever again, and he had left it far too late to get fit. He ached all over and was almost glad that his only option was to sit in the cold steam room and then go to work.
He would leave the decision about whether to come back tomorrow until later. Meanwhile he completed a customer comments form, commenting on the temperature of the steam room, requesting the installation of a new cross trainer and adding a note to the effect that the showers were difficult to turn off. Reading it back, it sounded a little harsh so rather than post it, he decided to deliver it in person to the General Manager. He could explain that although the comments seemed to be strongly worded, these were simply a report of minor irritants.
Wednesday.
A small sleep in, justified to himself on the grounds that new bloke would have captured the cross trainer and would be warming it up ready for his arrival. A further 20 minutes under the duvet would be time well spent and he could breeze into the gym with an air of machine ownership, stride towards it knowing that new bloke was about to dismount, and win the admiration of anyone else that happened to be there as new bloke appeared to pass it over in deference to a higher authority.
Didn't make any difference of course, as Builder and new bloke had somehow conspired to each use the machine in such a way as to block JDubya's move. He still had to wait thirty minutes before they gave way so he consoled himself with a spell on the rowing machine. He started to row as Aerobics Oz Style was finishing and he noticed that a chap was walking his dog behind the young ladies as the titles rolled. It was good timing, he might have interruped the program if he'd been a few minutes earlier, then the girls would have had to start recording their routine again. They would surely have looked tired the next time round. No-one could be fit enough to do all that twice.
The next program on the sports channel was extreme skiing and this provoked a conversation between two women in the gym about their recent ski holidays. The noise of the rower would have prevented him from listening into their conversation, even if he had wanted to. He did not. He was far more interested in watching the TV and thinking about his ski trip in a couple of weeks time. That's why he was in the gym after all.
As he left the gym, the duty manager called him over. "I have some feedback for you" he said. The GM had immediately responded, and the showers would be fixed later today. The steam room had been turned up, but unfortunately as a result there had been a lot of complaints that it was too hot and some of the staff had been convinced that it was about to cause a fire. The new cross trainer would be purchased ("Andrea will deal with it soon").
Now firmly in holiday mood, he went for breakfast. So focused on his holiday that he almost said "Bonjour" as he entered the restaurant but said "Good Morning" instead. After eating a meagre bowl of cereals, he stood up to leave. It crossed his mind that he would not know how to say "Have a nice day" or some other triviallity if he was in France. As he left, he said "Thank-you" to the waitress. She responded "Merci".
Was this just a coincidence? As he said "Thank-you" had it been translated into French and had she responded in kind? Or perhaps he spoken in English and been reponded to in English but his brain had translated her speech into French? If it had, why would it do such a preposterous thing? Bizarre might be too strong a term, but it was certainly unusual.
He made a mental note to deliberately speak in French tomorrow and see if she understood.
