It’s Not Getting Any Smarter Out There

Supposedly Frank Zappa said that. He was right I reckon.

So I’m in the gym this morning, getting into the groove of a kettlebell workout, swooping an eighteen-pounder in elliptical revolutions around my ass like a planet in the ecliptic, and here comes some dimbulb woman around half my age (they are looking younger every day) trailing a seven year old child (okay, maybe six, maybe eight) who did little mat warmups with Mommie for about forty seconds, then started leaping about and squealing “Mommie, did you see me? I jumped really HIGH!” Run up the matwork dais. Run back down it again. I look out of the corner of my eye; Squealy Child is actually taking a run-up and jumping over her prone mother as over a track-and-field obstacle, something to be said for ambition, but this is horse-shit. I go over to the desk and ask the idling trainer: “Are kids that young really allowed on the workout floor?”

He eyeballs the situation. “Uhhh, not ahhhh reaallly.”

“Just saying, I’m swinging an eighteen pound kettle out there and sometimes, you know, a girl loses her grip.”

A short while later I saw Mommie exiting the front entrance, rather huffily. Well have a nice day.

So I finish squatting and lunging and tossing balls of cast iron for the day, walk out to my car, and from the adjacent space there is a yipping sound, and there in a big black Escalade, on a day that topped out at eighty-four degrees fondly Fahrenheit [points if you can give the citation], is a little Jack Russell terrier.

I don’t even like dogs.

There is this REI outdoor gear place next to the gym. I walk in and ask the manager if he could make a PA announcement seeking the owner of the vehicle. A couple minutes later a woman in her twenties comes out, opens the doors, gives the dog water from a bottle, and I come around the back of the big fucking road boat and tell her cars get hotter than you can imagine in open sun and to please, never, never do that again. She doesn’t answer, but she drives off.

I explained about Frank Zappa to the store manager. I don’t think he recognized the name but he seemed to appreciate the sentiment.

This shit all happens before I even start work.

 

9 thoughts on “It’s Not Getting Any Smarter Out There

    • Alas, you can’t do what I need to do at home. I need a squat rack and anything up to six hundred and thirty pounds worth of plates and a row of kettlebells and a Smith frame and a deadlift rack… you can be serious at any level of exercise output, but once you’re playing with things that could brain someone or squash them like a bug (or mess you up if some inane disruption startles you), things like this turn from an annoyance (which is already unwarranted) to a genuine threat. Plus, get your noisy kid the fuck out of my happy place, twit.

  1. “Fondly Fahrenheit” is a science fiction short story by Alfred Bester, And Google is my friend.

    In Tennessee you are allowed to break into a hot car with an unattended pet or child, without liability. It’s one of the few progressive laws in this state.

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