Kiss my ass
1:57 p.m. on September 03, 2004
I was sitting on the toilet at the gym, doing my pre-work-out meditation, when someone suddenly banged on the door like a terrorist. “Just a min…WHAT THE HELL!?” Suddenly the door was flung open and my bare, white, moon ass took to the air so fast it could have been rocket powered. “Oh, sorry” said a brash female voice as she re-closed the door. The door to the bathroom opens to the circuit training room where I work out; lord knows how many of those ladies saw my lily-white butt-cheeks take flight and which one of them barged in on me? Shaken and embarrassed, I lingered in the bathroom longer than usual. When I emerged, a deafening voice called to me from way across the room for all to hear: “Sorry, that was me!” The voice belonged to a very chirpy young lady wearing a bright yellow Abercrombie & Fitch Tee shirt. “I had the door locked”, I scowled, “I don’t know what happened.” “Oh yeah, that door does not lock”, said some lady on the ab machine. Great. I started my work out avoiding eye contact with everyone, especially the perky storm trooper. I began to fixate on her and realized she must be on caffeinated cocaine the way she conducted herself. I could not get over the way she pounded on the door and then flung it open without waiting for a response. Now she was working out like a demon. Even on the recovery board, which is used to slow your pace and even out your heart rate, she was bouncing and bounding and kicking her legs and arms with the power of an alien cheerleader. On the stretch pad where you are supposed to…well…stretch, she was doing sit-ups instead, a million a minute. I did not like her one bit. Suddenly I realized that my pre-occupation with being annoyed by this woman propelled my work out and it was already time to go home. I skipped the stretch pad (is stretching really necessary?) and dragged my now sweaty ass out of there.

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