My intention today was to write a smashing review of a book I just finished, The Secret History of the Pink Carnation, by Lauren Willig. I even went out and found an image of the cover so you know what to look for when you rush right out to Barnes and Noble or Joseph-Beth (or whatever your crackhouse of choice is) to buy it. But as it is with all well-laid plans...it will have to wait. I am taking a cue from Salt Says and dedicating today's post to an open letter (specifically an open letter to the guy on the treadmill next to me in my teeny-tiny 24-hour gym).
Dear Unfortunate Soul Carrying the Plague,
May I be the first to suggest that perhaps you, above all people, have a very valid excuse for staying home today? Judging by your head-to-toe UK ensemble, I would guess that you are a true blue UK fan. Congratulations. So am I. And yes, that was a helluva game last night, wasn't it? Who would have thought there would be 6 fouls between the University of Kentucky and the University of Louisville (schools which are separated by 78 miles...and I am an alum from both because I think you should make college last as long as possible) in the first 45 seconds? I mean, that alone would cause you to inhale a basket of chicken wings and wash it down with a Pabst. Perhaps you awoke this morning and, upon remembering that it was the 3rd day of the new year and thus entirely too soon to ditch all of your New Year's resolutions, you rolled out from under Bambi, threw on last night's UK hoodie and hauled butt to the gym. My gym. When we came into the cardio studio (a room separated entirely from the rest of the gym because we're so classy, we belong to a place that is essentially in a strip mall), you were already hacking (into your hand...obviously you didn't get the memo. We hack into the crook of our elbow now) and looking as if the vapors were going to overtake you at any moment. And then, wonder of all wonders, you began texting. I understand that people walk and text all of the time, especially when they don't have to worry about walking into parking meters...but we're at the gym. Just a thought...maybe you should pick it up a bit. You're still in your hoodie, after all.
On second thought...you were coughing with such force and frequency that I truly expected a lung (or at least an alveoli* or 2) to violently eject from within and slime its way down the mirror, leaving a trail of green slime and pus. So...perhaps best not to ramp it up a bit. Maybe just sit?
Imagine my relief as you finally called it quits... ending your phone call, laying down the remote, dismounting the treadmill, and giving it a quick wipe-down (although what it really needed was a HazMat crew). My favorite part, though, is when you grabbed a squirt of the hand sanitizer on the way out the door...like it was you who must be protected. Classic. And, in case you were wondering, I did see you in the weight training studio via CCTV (FYI: that is not stalking...it's self-preservation). You really shouldn't just sit and text while you're at the gym. It annoys the hell out of the person waiting on that bench/equipment/stability ball, etc. But maybe you missed that memo, too. At any rate, I would really appreciate you skipping the gym on days like that. I know that it's a new year and everyone has worked themselves into a fitness frenzy, but is it really worth infecting me so that you can get your "miles" (or in your case, I would say mile) in?
Thanks a google,
The one who kept staring at you in absolute horror
*For those of you who haven't been forced to sit through 400 hours of anatomy and physiology...alveoli: Found in the lung, the pulmonary alveoli are spherical outcroppings of the respiratory bronchioles and are the primary sites of gas exchange with the blood.