Every village has an idiot, and tonight I found my town’s.
There is a bloke who comes into the gym. He’s about five foot tall. He has big biceps, big shoulders , looks toned till you see he has a massive belly. And a big fat head.
He does the same machines every time, and hogs them for ages. In fact, when the place is quiet, he tries to hog two machines at once. He does a set of shoulder presses and then goes over to the lat pulldown machine. But if someone has a go on either of these vacant machines, he sometimes stops and says ‘Hey mate I’m still using that one.’
No you aren’t, f**kwit you are on the other machine now. I always just say to him ‘I’m just doing a set of ten’ and then take my time.
But that’s not even the annoying thing. The real annoying thing is that the whole time he is exercising HE TALKS REALLY LOUDLY INTO A STUPID BLUE TOOTH HEADSET BEHIND HIS EAR.
He never stops. He talks self-important crap about various business dealings he is negotiating with some unnamed person. Maybe he is some sort of drug dealer, he certainly looks like one of our local thuggish organised criminals (Paramilitary) with his stupid gold chain and ugly tattoos.
His conversations go something like this:
‘Yeah, tell Billy to bring it over…no look I told him that already, it was all arranged….what….yeah but sure that was all sorted out…what….yeah of course that was all sorted out already….
Blah blah blah. Really loudly.
I suppose the reason why he has the big belly is because he only works on his arms. I sometimes wonder why he never looks in the mirror and thinks ‘Christ I look ridiculous.’ Because he does.
After I finish in the gym I like to go and relax in the steam room for half an hour. My bluetooth friend doesn’t usually frequent this area, but unfortunately tonight, I was sitting in the steam room when he walked in.
Bizarrely, he was fully dressed in his gym gear complete with jewellery. He had a newspaper with him. Bear in mind that in the steam room it’s very damp and with 90% humidity his paper soon started to fall apart.
But not before he had a chat to me about the contents. To my disgust, every time he finished a sentence he spat on the floor between his feet, like some weird nervous tic.
‘Look at that’ spit he said ‘he earns a million dollars an hour’ spit
‘What?’ I replied.
‘Advertising’ spit said Mr bulky dwarf. ‘a million dollars an hour. spit. I’d like to be him’ spit.
I was confused now. ‘Who does.’
‘Mr Google’ spit he said. ‘He gets a million dollars an hour from advertising.’spit