The Revenge of James Nasium

It's still dark when I go to work-it's not a requirement or a court mandate that it be dark so that I can go to work, it just is. I mention that because it's easier to understand there's not a lot of premium on what I look like stepping out our back door at the hour that I'm stepping.

On a hanger, most, though not all, days, are my work clothes-a dress shirt, tie, trousers, belt or braces (very rarely). I'm in some form of sweats from the well-known athletic clothing firm, Grunge Funky or is it Frunge Gunky? It ain't Aeropostale, that much I do know.

I have a routine as I carry my messenger bag (I gave up on briefcases; they don't hold enough other stuff and they are unwilling to change shapes to fit into tight spaces) on my left shoulder with my work clothes in my left hand as I hang on to my 'please let me in the building' credentials that -ta-da! actually let me in the building.

There have been days when I was more asleep than I realized as I left the house and I've arrived at work to learn as I've opened the rear door and reached for the work clothes they are still on the clothes hanger mounted on the cabinet nearest the back door so that I can see them as I leave and thus, never forget them. Unless and except when I do. We have a lot of fun in that wing of the building on days when that happens. Yep, it's a laugh riot.

I have about an hour after I arrive to finish whatever project, like Banquo's Ghost, is still lingering and get started on something new before I step outside and across the tarmac that's part of a large construction project that never seems to get done, and make my way to the gym, sorry, to the fitness center. It's like no one wears sneakers anymore, they wear sports shoes. That's because they don't go to the gym, they go to the fitness center to work off all that pasta, not noodles, from the night before. We are the only species on the planet with language skills so highly developed that we invent words to obfuscate, not illuminate, and prefer it that way.    

I'm in love with the elliptical cross trainer even though I actually hate it. I go at it like a maniac for thirty one minutes (don't ask, you don't want to know) and still don't understand what the heck the 'cool down' control is supposed to do or be. No matter-as it happens I have a lot of other questions bigger than that one and I added to them Tuesday by being a wiseguy. Again.

I know. Me? A wise guy. Happens to the best of us. I've been aware for days that at the next machine over, about ten minutes after I start, a guy shows up and works out while watching the Fox News Channel (one of the reasons I avoid that device; I like the brick wall when I look up). By the time I finish my vascular vacation, I am even less physically appealing than normal, steamy and sweaty  with an aroma that would cause roadkill to get up and run as I approached it.

Fortunately I always have my scintillating wit as an ally. Sometimes, early in the morning, it seems a lot more like snarkiness than is a good idea. That's why Tuesday, the guy on the neighboring machine made it a point to tell me 'you're always here before I get here; you must get up before I do' as I was puddling on the floor standing alongside of the Cross Trainer from Hades waiting for him to get to his point after flagging me down as I was leaving.

It took me a minute to realize Captain Obvious was already there and was actually waiting for me to volley the conversation back over the net. Here's the thing: I have three minutes to get back to my building, up the stairs to the fifth floor and into the shower for four minutes of slather and rinse and then change into my Clark Kent outfit (damn Yellow Sun!) and begin my workday. Synchronize watches and welcome to Not a Moment to Lose. He who hesitates is lunch.

I peered at the fellow since I'd left my glasses (seamless bifocals, it's what all the no longer young dudes are wearing now) back in the office as they get fogged up and sweaty before finally focusing on him. I explained without a hint of what I am told is a winsome smile that I didn't get up earlier than he did, but rather, that I was homeless and the folks in the gym let me sleep there at night. He actually stopped in mid cross-train, with a look on his face I can't quite describe and then stepped off the device and left. Didn't even wipe it down. I noticed yesterday morning he was nowhere to be found. Sniff, sniff. I smell trend.

Guess I didn't know my own strength. I've got my eye on one of those shiny new spinning bicycles they just got in. I even have my own bell and two thumbs. At last count there are only four folks riding those things-I figure in two weeks I'll be making like Duna at The Pension Grillparzer. And won't Bill O'Reilly be amazed.
-bill kenny