For a trailer it's very nice. Bouncy sales people with spiked hair run around offering people water and coffee. The couch is leather and the t.v. is currently projecting a picture of Nemo large enough to give me nightmares about guppies for the rest of my life.
C. is filling out the requisite form. As is the case with most of these business things my name has gone from Katy So-and-So to Mrs. So-and-So and we are collectively (though not inclusively) 30 yrs. old and male. That's the way I like it.
The forms are filled out. What level of fitness are you? Where do you live? What are you looking for? Apparently we're looking for a salesman because the bubbly little girl with our clipboard lost the first one. Finally we sit down with someone I think is named Robin. I cross my legs demurely, fold my coat over my lap and get comfy for the pitch.
"So, what are you here for C. and Kathy?" asks the questionably named Robin. We're both stumped.
Uh...aren't you supposed to tell us? I think. I ignore the fact that he got my name wrong...for now.
"We're looking for a gym." C. says. Maybe it's a guy thing. Maybe Robin is playing the snake in the grass, pretending to be guided before easily pushing us towards the plan that'll get him the best commission.
"So, have you been to our website?" Robin asks cheerfully.
"Yes." Mr. So-and-So answers for both of us.
"Okay, so what do you want to sign up for?"
Uh, I think again aren't you supposed to tell us that part too?
"Well, we had some confusion about the different plans." C. says - clearly cueing Robin in to give us the schpeel.
"Do either of you do yoga?" Apparently it's not a guy thing. Robin is thick as a post.
"I do." I pipe up.
"Do you have a 'I love yoga' bumper sticker?"
"No."
"Get the sports plan." Robin says.
That was it? That's your pitch?
"Let's sign you up then!" Robin says cheerfully, beginning to type in the name Kathy...whoever the hell she is.
"Well I'd like to know what we're getting." I say, I think rather diplomatically.
"If you saw the website you saw it all. Basically if you don't want one on one yoga then you don't need the Premium package. So, sign you guys up?"
"Okay." my husband says.
My head snaps around and I think Robin can hear my hair whizzing past him dismissively. I know why C. said yes, and I agree with it and am ready to sign up, but I am not ready to just hand this spiky-haired-name-messing-up bozo my credit card with a smile.
"Should I leave you two alone?" Robin says, giving my husband a smile that says 'Dude, tough wife you have there'. I'm pissed off. I'm not mad at my husband, I'm mad at Robin. You must be single I think to myself.
"No. This is fine. What do we get with this membership?" I say, folding my hands on the table and leaning forward.
"Uh, if you read the website...."
"What machines do you have? What classes can I take? Do I have to pay extra? How many machines do you have? What are the peak hours? When do you open? When do you close? How many teachers are there? How many bikes do you have? How big is the pool?" I look at him and he smirks. We back and forth, he answers derisively. It's ironic because I can tell he doesn't know the answers to any of it, but he's acting as if he's in with a big joke with my husband. Isn't it cute how she's pretending to play hardball. The way she pretends she can mix with the men. Isn't the little Kathy silly?
My name is Katy - Jackass!
Finally he calls in reinforcements. A lady comes over and gives me the entire class schedule, rattled off by heart.
"I should be careful what I ask her," Robin oozes "she gives too much information." He's laughing as she walks away.
"It was just what I wanted. I was asking for information." I say smoothly. If my pen was sharper I'd tear out his eye.
We sign up, we fill out the forms and take our receipt. It takes three more tries but Robin finally types in the name Katy for Kathy.
Before I walk out the door I ask the girls at the receptionist desk for a copy of their rules and regulations. Dress code, behavior, etc. Just so I know what to do when I come in for my first workout. No surprises. She rushes back to a manager to get it for me. As they walk up the paper, with all the information I asked for laid out in pretty, well worded efficiency I hear Robin's voice waft over to me.
"Who wants what? Oh I remember her...the psycho one."
Psycho indeed...wait till I see your sorry butt in kickboxing class "Robin".
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5 comments:
Oh my god! Isn't that unprofessional! Psycho for making him do his job?!! I hate that. I really really hate that. What a freak! Kick his ass Katy! Wipe the floor with him. Grrr.
And good luck on joining the new gym.
Now that it's been a few days and my husband has stopped laughing at me I can admit this is funny.
Still want to kick his ass though. I hate people who don't do their job.
Oh gross. It's not just that he wasn't doing his job that pisses me off...it's that whole "hey there, little lady" attitude. Gross.
And yes, you are absolutely psychotic for wanting to know when the gym closes. Get thee to a hospital.
But still. I wouldn't mess with anyone called Robin. he probably has a friend called Batman.
Kathy - But when does the hospital close? When does it open? Do I have to wear sneakers there? What about those strange socks with the sticky stuff on the bottom???
In other news, a woman went postal in a gym the other day threatening to throw large balance balls at peoples head and call them Tinkie Winkie...she's cute when she's mad.
BK- Psycho woman trumps Batman anyday. I'm like catwoman without the whip. By the way - Update your blog.
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