You know, I'm going to be honest. I'm not one to get hit on regularly, I'm really not. And I'm kind of quiet and shy and awkward, and really, the whole experience is just unpleasant for me from, "Hello." So, because the occasion is rare, when the occasion arises it's worth noting.
Especially what happened yesterday.
I popped into a local gym. Anytime Fitness, anyone? Remember the last time we discussed the place? Well, it was there. And, hello, it was awkward.
I dared to ask about membership rates, and a large, brood-ish, trainer-type man said to me, "Oh. Well, you're going to want to talk to that guy over there," and he pointed to, well, that guy. Over there.
That guy was definitely that guy. Probably never stepped a foot on a treadmill in his life, and if he did, he made sure to wear his college drinking team t-shirt and over-sized basketball shorts.
He was about pumping iron, you know. And looking at himself in the mirror all the while. He doesn't sweat. And not because he's hardcore like that, but because he doesn't try.
He was shorter than me. Not that that has much significance, I suppose, if we're playing fair. But when you're shorter than me (I am not tall) and you make up for that fact with the bottle of gel in your hair, it's a problem.
And so it began.
"Well, hey, man," that guy says to me.
I bite my tongue and glance down. "Heeey."
Yes, that was mockery.
"I'm just wondering about membership rates," I tried to explain. Slowly. Mem-ber-ship rates. I wanted to make sure he was paying attention, and not to my ass.
"Well, now. That depends," he carried on. He was very sing-song-y. Also irritating. "You know, is it for you? Or for, like, you and a boyfriend? A husband?"
I gave him the benefit of the doubt that time, because I do believe membership rates vary depending on if it's for a single or a couple.
"Nope, just me."
"Well, OK then..." he droned on, like a radio personality. "Let's just show you 'round the place."
He led, I followed. Nothing he told me was news. I've been to a gym before, and yes, I know how the treadmill operates. Uh huh, yes, I see how that is the proper way to perform a bicep curl.
And then it continued.
"So, where are you livin'?" he asked.
"So, is that, like, alone? Who are you living with?"
At this point he began filling out a questionnaire, and proceeded to ask me the general questions about what I'm interested in at the gym, my goals and, apparently, if I have any desire to share a life with him, the membership guy.
"So, now, you're not married, then?" he asked as he scribbled on the questionnaire, looking down, while I successfully dodged the question.
"Well, then, do you prefer to work out alone? Or with a friend? A boyfriend?"
Really, guy? REALLY? Please just make this easier on the both of us and either, A) tell me what I need to know about memberships, or B) shut the hell up, you're short.
"Nope. Just me. Just like to run alone."
And also, I'd like to be left alone now, if that matters. Didn't say that, of course, but just smiled and nodded.
Before I left, he gave me his card. Because, "anytime you want to just, you know, try out the club, or anything, just, you know, give me a call. Anytime."
Yeah. Got it. Anytime.
His card is still sitting in the cup holder in my car with zero intent of ever becoming useful. Perhaps that's bitchy. Maybe I should appreciate the few and far-between blatant advances from men who probably cannot form a distinction between "their," "there" and "they're" (and I base this judgment solely off appearance, FYI, because I'm a snob like that), but seriously.
Come up with better pick-up lines, honestly.