Get the Gatorade bucket ready
While attempting to price shop from my safe computer in my safe, dark bedroom, I accidentally joined a gym. Never trust the Internet to quote you a price. There will always be some website programmer whose job is to find a way to lure you toward the hotseat like you just snagged a Dewey.
I haven't paid yet. But they've got my information. My address. My phone number. My e-mail address. My age group and fitness expectations. I clicked a button and now a snobby database is generating a contract, apparently, as well as junk mail, to-hassle lists, and spam, all for me. All because I like candy more than I like walking in the fucking giant frigid garage that is outdoor New York during the winter months.
I hate gyms. I just wanted to see how much it would cost to join one for a month so I could use the pool and take discounted yoga classes. I wanted an Amazonian experience. I wanted to sift prices and add shit to my cart to see just how much the total is, including tax and shipping, before I change my mind and kill the window to make space for a game of Snood.
God help the first person who calls me, probably at 7 a.m. when all the gymmies are stalking the earth looking for blood and soy protein.
"I decided to use my money to purchase a Carvel franchise instead," I'll say.
In other news, the MFA program is relocating to Brooklyn come September and Southampton College will no longer exist. After Sidelines, this marks the fifth business shut down within one year of my routine presence. Maybe I should tell that to the gym hasslers. It's just better this way.
I haven't paid yet. But they've got my information. My address. My phone number. My e-mail address. My age group and fitness expectations. I clicked a button and now a snobby database is generating a contract, apparently, as well as junk mail, to-hassle lists, and spam, all for me. All because I like candy more than I like walking in the fucking giant frigid garage that is outdoor New York during the winter months.
I hate gyms. I just wanted to see how much it would cost to join one for a month so I could use the pool and take discounted yoga classes. I wanted an Amazonian experience. I wanted to sift prices and add shit to my cart to see just how much the total is, including tax and shipping, before I change my mind and kill the window to make space for a game of Snood.
God help the first person who calls me, probably at 7 a.m. when all the gymmies are stalking the earth looking for blood and soy protein.
"I decided to use my money to purchase a Carvel franchise instead," I'll say.
In other news, the MFA program is relocating to Brooklyn come September and Southampton College will no longer exist. After Sidelines, this marks the fifth business shut down within one year of my routine presence. Maybe I should tell that to the gym hasslers. It's just better this way.
3 Comments:
You're like the angel of death. Maybe you should consider working at Wal-Mart.
By the way, I didn't mean that the trajectory of your career entails that you work at Wal-Mart. I meant that you should work at Wal-Mart so we can put those bitches out of their misery.
You're probably right. On both counts. Isn't Wal-Mart the place for aspiring writers? What about aspiring buck hunters?
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