Why the Gym is Bad for You

Posted Dan on 19/08/2010 at 5:00 pm in Blog

So there I was in the gym locker room, awkwardly standing in my underwear, wondering if I had lost my mind. “Where the hell are my pants?”

The crime

I had just finished my workout and was attempting to change out of my sweaty gym clothes. As I rummaged through my locker, the lockers next to my locker, the floor, the ceiling, inside my running shoes I realized a very bizarre fact: my pants had been stolen.

Of course, this idea was so ludicrous, and I’m so quick to doubt myself that I started blaming me. My first theory was that I had hung my pants in one locker, placed the rest of my clothes and gym bag in a second locker, locked that one, and then someone else used the locker with my pants in it, and accidentally packed them into their gym bag when they left. Then I wondered “was I even wearing pants today?” This made more sense than some sort of locker room pantaloon burglar.

Then it hit me like a handful of monkey feces: the gym bag pocket where I kept my wallet was empty. F***! I had been robbed.

Losing your wallet is awesome. Cause when you lose your wallet you start thinking about how much cash you had, all the cards you had in there, the massive pain in the ass it’s going to be to cancel and replace everything, and right when you’re about to sink into a deep dark depression, you remember the wedding… and the suit jacket you wore… and then HALLEJULIA! You find it! This is the greatest day of your life! The feeling of joy you get from finding the wallet makes the sinking feeling you had just seconds before all worth it.

But when your wallet gets stolen, there are no angel songs to be heard. Only devils giggling.

The weird part is that my lock wasn’t even broken; I had to unlock it to learn of my misfortune. My guess is that when I placed the lock on the locker (shouldn’t locks be called “lockers” and lockers called “lockees”?) I didn’t spin the dial properly, so all the thief had to do was pull down and VOILA, wallet and pants heaven!

Getting my shit together…

After slipping back into my drenched gym shorts I reported the crime to the gym manager. There was no real point to this, as there were “We are not responsible for missing or stolen items” signs everywhere (one of my former roommates stole one of those signs and hung it above our front door). But the blue-eyed girl behind the counter felt terrible and kept apologizing as she made me fill out a report. Despite my rage and frustration I couldn’t help notice: hey this girl is cute! Really libido? Even now? Really? Jesus!

I immediately called my bank who informed me that my credit card had already been used fraudulently. I was shocked. Not sure why I was shocked, the credit card is probably what they were after. I doubt they would steal my wallet for my Blockbuster membership. The funny thing is they used my credit card to buy bus tickets: Hey moron, you could’ve used my buss pass!

At the station…

When someone fraudulently uses your credit card, you have to go to your local police station to file a report; otherwise you’re responsible for the stolen cash. So I’m at the station and the officer is transferring my written report to her computer. Now ladies, if you’re reading this please don’t take offense by what I’m about to say, but the story doesn’t work if I don’t mention this: the lady cop had an ENORMOUS caboose. She was very nice, pretty face, huge bum.

So I’m standing at the counter, and as the police officer fills out the report on her computer, she’s getting pissed her keyboard isn’t working, so she starts typing HARDER, crushing each key with her fingers. When that doesn’t work she picks it up and slamms it on her desk. That’s when I pointed out that it was unplugged, to which she replied “Oh bein tabarnak!”