If you are someone who works out regularly at a fitness facility OR someone who has a robust sense of humor, this story is for you. Listen up.
There’s an elder gentleman (older than me) who, bless his heart, continues to ride the stationary bike, lift weights and laugh at my jokes on a regular basis. He’s kind of a skinny guy. Doesn’t look very strong.
He’s a regular though. Along with a more portly fellow who joins him (the joke-teller in this twosome), they serve as a forum for out-there antics. Usually, that means we tell a joke, which is a lost art these days. That’s because many people often choose not to interact face-to-face, instead hiding in their phones, burying their noses in instant media.
No, the three of us don’t have our phones with us, no ear buds in. We’re the pranksters, liars, philosophizers about the future of the world. It’s a good thing.
As part of our connection, I assumed the role of messing with Skinny Man (who will be referred to as “Skinny” for the rest of this tale). He takes harassment easily. He laughs. I can tell it reconnects him with people, and that’s always a good thing.
When he shifts from the stationary bike to the weight machines, Skinny tends to sit and think for a bit of each machine before he pushes the weights. Sometimes that can take a few minutes. This allows time for me to plan the attack.
Looking at Skinny, you wouldn’t assume he has much arm strength. But, when I get on a machine after he has demolished his weight set, I often find he pumps more than I do. That’s awesome and inspirational.
It inspires me to push him further. Recently, for example, he cranked on the sitting bench press, where you park your butt on the seat, then push the handlebars attached to the weights away from you. Similar to doing a pushup. It develops the same muscles.
He finished his first set and started daydreaming about his Cream of Wheat breakfast to follow, and how much colon blow to sprinkle in. That takes mental focus for Skinny, so I knew the opportunity existed for sabotaging him.
His eyes typically focus in the distance while he daydreams and preps for the second set. I snuck in behind him, pulled the metal peg from the 50 lb. weight set, and reinserted the peg into the 80 lb. weight. Didn’t want to hurt him by going to 100 pounds or higher, but I thought the 80-pounder would get some grunts and his attention, along with Portly Man’s.
Finally, he was ready. I moved back to my machine, watching from a distance. He grunted, exerted himself, his massive skinny muscles flexing. He DID it. Then, wham, let the weights slam down and looked around with an amused expression.
I’m dying. Cannot contain my mirth. Portly Man is on the floor slamming his palm on the mat in hysterics. Our laughter reverberates throughout the facility. People look up from smart phones. Heads turn. We continue cracking up.
Skinny smiles. He loves it. He nods at me. He knows I’m watching him, paying attention, making sure he gets his chuckle of the day. Hopefully, we got a few other people chortling as well.
It’s spreading. We can feel it. Laughter is contagious.
There’s an elder gentleman (older than me) who, bless his heart, continues to ride the stationary bike, lift weights and laugh at my jokes on a regular basis. He’s kind of a skinny guy. Doesn’t look very strong.
He’s a regular though. Along with a more portly fellow who joins him (the joke-teller in this twosome), they serve as a forum for out-there antics. Usually, that means we tell a joke, which is a lost art these days. That’s because many people often choose not to interact face-to-face, instead hiding in their phones, burying their noses in instant media.
No, the three of us don’t have our phones with us, no ear buds in. We’re the pranksters, liars, philosophizers about the future of the world. It’s a good thing.
As part of our connection, I assumed the role of messing with Skinny Man (who will be referred to as “Skinny” for the rest of this tale). He takes harassment easily. He laughs. I can tell it reconnects him with people, and that’s always a good thing.
When he shifts from the stationary bike to the weight machines, Skinny tends to sit and think for a bit of each machine before he pushes the weights. Sometimes that can take a few minutes. This allows time for me to plan the attack.
Looking at Skinny, you wouldn’t assume he has much arm strength. But, when I get on a machine after he has demolished his weight set, I often find he pumps more than I do. That’s awesome and inspirational.
It inspires me to push him further. Recently, for example, he cranked on the sitting bench press, where you park your butt on the seat, then push the handlebars attached to the weights away from you. Similar to doing a pushup. It develops the same muscles.
He finished his first set and started daydreaming about his Cream of Wheat breakfast to follow, and how much colon blow to sprinkle in. That takes mental focus for Skinny, so I knew the opportunity existed for sabotaging him.
His eyes typically focus in the distance while he daydreams and preps for the second set. I snuck in behind him, pulled the metal peg from the 50 lb. weight set, and reinserted the peg into the 80 lb. weight. Didn’t want to hurt him by going to 100 pounds or higher, but I thought the 80-pounder would get some grunts and his attention, along with Portly Man’s.
Finally, he was ready. I moved back to my machine, watching from a distance. He grunted, exerted himself, his massive skinny muscles flexing. He DID it. Then, wham, let the weights slam down and looked around with an amused expression.
I’m dying. Cannot contain my mirth. Portly Man is on the floor slamming his palm on the mat in hysterics. Our laughter reverberates throughout the facility. People look up from smart phones. Heads turn. We continue cracking up.
Skinny smiles. He loves it. He nods at me. He knows I’m watching him, paying attention, making sure he gets his chuckle of the day. Hopefully, we got a few other people chortling as well.
It’s spreading. We can feel it. Laughter is contagious.