My favorite part of going to the gym is when I get to leave. So after finishing my half-hearted weight training in GhettoGym’s upstairs prison yard, I made my way down the little flight of stairs to the exit.
What’s this? A human traffic jam? Why, bitches? Aunty Beth needs to go.
Still listening to my iPod, I peered around the landing in the middle of the stairs to see a woman on her fucking cell phone, blocking half of the stairwell and chatting away without a care in the world. 12 or 13 people were going either up or down, squeezing around her and rolling their eyes.
It was bizarre, her obvious lack of consideration for people she was clearly aware of. And it pissed me off.
With the Scissor Sisters blasting in my ears, I exhaled, “This is where you choose to stand?”
Everyone in the stairwell stopped and stared at me. With my earplugs in, I didn’t realize it, but had I yelled “THIS IS WHERE YOU CHOOSE TO STAND?” as opposed to saying it to myself in my head, which was my intention.
This often happens to my brother on airplanes, as he refuses to take off his headset and will end up screaming, “YOU WANT TO PLAY CARDS?” or “SOMETHING’S WRONG WITH THIS CHEESE” at 35,000 feet.
But my proximity to my new nemesis made my unfortunate outburst slightly dangerous. As I passed the perp, I waited for a reaction.
Bitch paused long enough to shoot me a look and then kept talking.
Who are these people?
Just when I start to lament referring to my rarely used fitness emporium as, for all intensive purposes, a shitbox, it goes and gets even more goddamn ghetto.
Well played, GhettoGym…