It’s life gym; but not as we know it
After the exertions of being driven back to Manchester after a long, hard evening watching the NFL at Wembley there would only ever be one sensible course of action when I returned home at about 1.30 am. And so I did the sensible thing: I dragged my weary body to the settee and watched the late game of NFL on Channel 4 before going to bed at about 4.
The knock-on effect meant that today amounted to little more than going to the gym and little else. The gym in the day can be a bit weird. Because it’s a community gym type affair they have programmes for some people in the community. You can keep your fancy Virgin gyms with your towels and…something else that makes a gym sound swanky. You can keep them because I get to go to the gym with old people doing things very slowly, wearing jeans and shoes at the side of me. It’s actually disconcerting – rather then creating some sense of superiority. Though, it does make me think, which is the bigger gap in physical condition? The one between me and an overweight 60-year-old overweight man who is recovering from a stroke; or the one between me and the lads who are always in there and sprint for ages on the treadmill and lift weights equivalent to that of a small car?
There weren’t any community groups in the gym today though. Just me and a group of, frankly, far superior specimens of the human form. I mentioned the community types because of the juxtaposition (sorry – sometimes IT IS the only word) of someone in a coat and baggy jeans, Sunday best shoes in a gym can be quite humorous. That’s a gentle observation, not a demeaning one (and if anyone were to argue that it was demeaning to me I’d reply “no it isn’t: it’s gentle”).
I’d like to make a complaint- this chicken is dead
If stuff goes wrong I normally don’t complain about it. For clarification: I don’t complain there and then directly to whom I should be complaining, I complain to my friends/girlfriend/the readers of a tawdry daily blog. But tonight, I did it – I did a complain.
I ordered some food from around the corner for my tea. Picked it up, paid, came home and opened the food. Some of it was missing. Can I get through this without mentioning that it was a spicy chicken burger, three pieces of fried chicken and chips that I had ordered/was expecting to eat? Apparently not. Come on: I had been to the gym.
There were not three pieces of chicken there though. There were only two. (There was a spicy chicken burger and chips – of that there is no debate.) I started eating a piece of chicken. I was fuming a little bit. Fuck it, fuck it – I am going to ring them up and tell them. Yes, I had already realised I wouldn’t be able to eat it all. Yes it was only matter of 80p of chicken. But no, NO I would not stand for this, literally: I was sat down. Metaphorically, also, I would not stand for this. And I phoned them. They didn’t quibble and said I could come and get the chicken they had omitted. I said I was sorry but that really wasn’t on; I was in the middle of my tea now and it was their mistake. “Ok, we’ll bring it round when we get a chance in the next 10 minutes.” And they did – AND they brought me a chocolate muffin to apologise.
See what happened here was that I didn’t fume about it and then moan about it later. Like the other week when some drunk men sat next to me on the train and I just moved away from them. I stopped getting overly annoyed about something by removing the thought/cause of the annoyance. It’s rather revolutionary behaviour for me. Not as funny when you retell it to someone is it though?
Admittedly whatever I write isn’t very funny, but that’s not the point.