A whole lotta nothing

I fear the summer doldrums have begun to set in. It seems like not much is happening, although with the heat and the humidity, my irritation factor is unusually high.

The highlight of the week thus far is that we may be power-washing the house and getting the diesel school bus funk off of the siding. Who says adulthood isn't something magical?

I just got back from the gym where I had a minor confrontation with one of the few noticeable jerks in the place. Okay - right up on the wall, in big letters - as well as in the package you receive when you joined - the cardinal rules are that you:

a. wipe down the equipment after you use it
b. don't cut in front of anyone else who is using the circuit
c. reset the weights when you are done

Said jerk was consistently breaking rules b and c. He'd work out on one machine - dash over to the free weights and do something else - dash back and jump on another machine right in front of me - then run off and do something else.

I realize that I'm a big boy - and that it really isn't a major issue to reset the weights myself. But those of you who know me know how big I am on THE PRINCIPLE - and on good manners.

So - as he jumped on the machine in front of me and placed his spray bottle and towel on the seat of the machine I was about to use, he got "the look."

"The look" can best be described as an over-the-glasses look of disdain and annoyance - conveying the idea to the intended recipient that not only has he/she caused you great inconvenience, but that he/she has also very likely has stepped in and reeks of dog feces, and does not even possess the IQ to realize it, being that they are the product of an unholy union of a pair of profoundly retarded siblings.

And that they are poor and smell of spoiled milk and shame.

Anyway - after he got "the look," he quickly snatched his spray bottle and towel and mumbled an apology.

Having already started wheeling my rocket-powered indignation-mobile up the on ramp of high dudgeon, I glanced his way and said, very politely,

"No problem. And, oh - when you have finished, would you please reset the weights?"

This was accompanied by "the look's" younger sibling. the "I really shouldn't have to be speaking to you" look.

"Why?" he asked. "What weight do you want it at? You only have to move the pin to what you want the weight to be. Why do I have to reset it?"

The look returned once more as I said, very quietly, "never mind. Forget I said a word."

This translates, roughly, to: "You are a rude, rude pig from hell with a bad mustache, bad hair, and pale, hairy chicken legs. If I had super powers, I would flash fry your pathetic ass on this spot then dance on the ashes and chant bad things about both your parentage and the size of your genitals."

My workout was essentially ruined, but I slogged through anyway.

And I continued to dutifully reset the weights on every machine after I had used it, wiped down the seats, the pads, the handles - and no one but me seemed to care.

But that's enough. Somewhere a great karmic tally is being kept.

And I am waaaay ahead of this schmuck.

Ass.