I am a people person. Really, I am. My last Myers-Briggs said so. And the people around me say so, be they friends, or aquaintances, or those lucky enough to be standing in front of me in line at The Walmart.
But I am having SUCH a problem with The Tuesday People.
I have been going to the friendly neighborhood Curves just down the street all summer long, several days a week. It is a delightfuly whimsically decorated purplish workout room with adorable white lights in the windows and many inspiring colorful foam words hanging on curly ribbons from the ceiling. The 90s techno beat pumps out whether the music is Fake Beatles 60s songs or Fakey Brakey Country. There is even a sparkly ornament ball hanging from one of the many ceiling fans that I always playfully whack and spin around while I’m marching in place on the circuit, keeping that heartrate at 80%.
But I’m telling you…none of this makes up for the Tuesday People.
The Tuesday People chicken dance around happily to the peppy music. They pretend to obliviously clappity clap their happy hands, while all the time they are really stalking me, planning their alternating attacks. The Tuesday people have Eagle Eyes in the back of their happy heads. Their outfits are cellulite-free lycratastic and usually they are putting on a jacket or sipping a rackafrackin’ iced mocha. It’s not difficult to loathe them while sweating to the Jackson 5 under THESE circumstances…but wait. There’s more.
While they zip their jackets and sip their 300 calorie heaven, as if they don’t have anything better to do on the clock, they subtly WATCH me, from the mirrors, reflections in the inspirational poster frames, or out of the corners of their sneaky little eyes just WAITING for me to screw up my stance, hold, head placement or toe point so they can casually come over and act like they’re helping/inspiring/improving my life. It’s like they are CONSTANTLY TRYING to correct me. All the time. Which I just have too little tolerance for.
I mean, it’s quite enough that the yellow “caution, low energy attempt at lifting” light is blinking so obnoxiously at me. I KNOW it can’t see the sweat pouring down off my vein popping forehead. But the Tuesday people are supposedly human. They have the nerve to march right over to me, and head-tiltingly suggest, over the yellow “caution, not working hard enough” blinking light that I “may be standing too far back” or “might want to keep my head in the square” or “not quite gettting” the “full range of motion.” Oh, you perfectionist Tuesday people. I’d shake my fist at you, but it’s worn slap out. An eye roll will have to do.
I wonder how many calories THOSE burn?