Even the losers
Get lucky sometimes
Wow, what a fruitful trip to the gym this morning.
First, in the locker room, there was the Naked Old Guy Who Doesn't Give A Shit And Walks Around Talking to Everyone. I averted my eyes and mumbled a prayer to Allah that the guy would stop talking about the 8 pound trout he caught the other day and get dressed. Or get hit by lightning.
Then, there were a few Plastic Surgery Victims working out. I want to walk up to one of them, grab them by the shoulders, shake them and scream, "STOP, FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST. YOU ARE 60 YEARS OLD. OWN IT. YOUR TITS AREN'T SUPPOSED TO BE IN YOUR EARS AND YOU ARE STARTING TO LOOK LIKE MICHAEL JACKSON. STOP. JUST STOP."
Then, there was this douchebag working out in a polo shirt with a popped collar. I wanted to drop a 45 pound plate on his forehead to do a favor to the gene pool. I cannot tell you how much the re-emergence of the "popped collar" disturbs me. I thought it was ridiculous in 1985, and it is even more ridiculous now.
I blame the parents. Ever since they stopped beating their kids, and started giving timeouts, society has gone to hell.
In the lobby, as I was leaving, a mother was trying to have a calm, reasoned conversation with her four year old, who was absolutely pitching a fit because he couldn't get his snack at the gym, and was facing a wait upwards of five minutes to get his snack at the bagel store... and This Will Not Stand.
She was politely explaining to her little, unique snowflake from heaven that he would get his snack in a few short minutes.
He wasn't having it, and went to the ground, kicking, screaming and pounding. It was a full-fledged tantrum.
And Miss PC Mommy continues to explain to the little angel that, "Oh, now you know that isn't appropriate behavior for the gym, honey. Do you see anyone else here yelling and kicking on the floor?"
"BUT I WANT MY SNACK!!! WAAAAAAAH!!"
I hate it when parents do that. My internal engine redlines, steam comes out my ear and The Vein appears in my forehead.
The kid needed his ass beaten.
If she had done it, I would have applauded.
Shit, I almost went over and beat him.
Since I have a lot of time, I am going to spearhead a National "Beat Your Kids" Campaign. I will pour all of my resources and energy into this effort. I am serious.
Good workout, though.
P.S. On the way home from the gym, I received the following text message from a friend who shall remain nameless:
"Housekeeping left a booger on the nightstand, so I left a turd in the tub."
First, in the locker room, there was the Naked Old Guy Who Doesn't Give A Shit And Walks Around Talking to Everyone. I averted my eyes and mumbled a prayer to Allah that the guy would stop talking about the 8 pound trout he caught the other day and get dressed. Or get hit by lightning.
Then, there were a few Plastic Surgery Victims working out. I want to walk up to one of them, grab them by the shoulders, shake them and scream, "STOP, FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST. YOU ARE 60 YEARS OLD. OWN IT. YOUR TITS AREN'T SUPPOSED TO BE IN YOUR EARS AND YOU ARE STARTING TO LOOK LIKE MICHAEL JACKSON. STOP. JUST STOP."
Then, there was this douchebag working out in a polo shirt with a popped collar. I wanted to drop a 45 pound plate on his forehead to do a favor to the gene pool. I cannot tell you how much the re-emergence of the "popped collar" disturbs me. I thought it was ridiculous in 1985, and it is even more ridiculous now.
I blame the parents. Ever since they stopped beating their kids, and started giving timeouts, society has gone to hell.
In the lobby, as I was leaving, a mother was trying to have a calm, reasoned conversation with her four year old, who was absolutely pitching a fit because he couldn't get his snack at the gym, and was facing a wait upwards of five minutes to get his snack at the bagel store... and This Will Not Stand.
She was politely explaining to her little, unique snowflake from heaven that he would get his snack in a few short minutes.
He wasn't having it, and went to the ground, kicking, screaming and pounding. It was a full-fledged tantrum.
And Miss PC Mommy continues to explain to the little angel that, "Oh, now you know that isn't appropriate behavior for the gym, honey. Do you see anyone else here yelling and kicking on the floor?"
"BUT I WANT MY SNACK!!! WAAAAAAAH!!"
I hate it when parents do that. My internal engine redlines, steam comes out my ear and The Vein appears in my forehead.
The kid needed his ass beaten.
If she had done it, I would have applauded.
Shit, I almost went over and beat him.
Since I have a lot of time, I am going to spearhead a National "Beat Your Kids" Campaign. I will pour all of my resources and energy into this effort. I am serious.
Good workout, though.
P.S. On the way home from the gym, I received the following text message from a friend who shall remain nameless:
"Housekeeping left a booger on the nightstand, so I left a turd in the tub."
posted by Joe at
10:37 AM
4 Comments:
I dunno, Dude. The ass whuppin' doesn't always turn out the way one plans. Oh, maybe for the short term. But then the kid just thinks up increasingly more intricate ways to subvert authority. Ask me how I know.
As a parent, however, the method failed us from the get-go. All I can say is, thank God for 20th century pharmaceuticals.
Just kiddin' (sort of), as I'm sure you are.
you and daniel. my husband hears you on that. the ass whoopin' thing is what boys need sometimes. I grew up with no brothers so we all obeyed of course and followed the rules, but sheesh, boys are a whole different ballgame.
oh but the 1985 popped collar I love. just not working out
If this wasn't the internet and the Bozone weren't such a small place...and I would actually admit to not being a PC mom, I might tell you that I am totally on board with the beating thing. Mister will be more than happy to tell you that he's on board, but he NEVER claimed to be PC.
As for the "Bridge", you need to work out in the early AM. Most of the people who show up at 5:15 are there to truly work out...also, no children.
I could tell you about the time my first threw a tantrum in a store. I promptly picked her up by the back of the overalls and hauled her screaming little head out the store. Unfortunatly, I was seven months pregnant at the time and "pulled" a muscle in my back. Took four weeks and a couple trips to the chiropractor to settle out. But she wasn't screaming in the store.
I will say, I'm fond of the 'upper arm grab' - where I firmly hold my child's upper arm and propel him/her where he/she needs to go.
Nothing drives me more batty than the my-wittle-pwecious routine.
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home