You: Mid life crisis guy with protruding belly and receding hair line who swooped in like a hawk as I walked over to the bench press machine this morning.

Me: Tattooed five footer with sweaty pony tail and sleepy eyes.

We made brief eye contact and then you looked away as if you hadn’t realized that you had stolen my machine.

I tried to be a good sport and did other exercises as I watched you stack the machine with the highest amount of weights possible and then pace back and forth as if you were David, about to take down Goliath.

All of your pacing and huffing made me dizzy, but it didn’t begin to piss me off until I was on my THIRD machine and you had not yet mustered enough courage to do ONE SET! Instead you picked up the latest copy of an Auto Trader magazine and whistled as you dreamt about buying your next 1988 Buick Le Sabre!

I wondered if you made it a habit to nap in between sets, because it had been well over one half hour since you barbarously swiped my machine. I politely interrupted your Buick dream, and asked if I could do a set since it was clear that it’d be another hour before you did one on your own. You replied that you had one more to do (“in a few minutes”) and that if I wanted to do a set in between that I would have to un-stack the EIGHT 45 lb weights and then re-stack them for you because you were not done with your Auto Trader, but also not done with the machine!

I am not sure if you know this, but when you are five feet tall, moving plates that are bigger than your entire torso is hard work. Oh wait! You do know this because you watched me struggle and smirked as I un-stacked YOUR weights.

This, dear fatty, is the only time in my life when I wished I was a dude so that I could punch you in the gut or better yet body slam your ass on to the ground, knocking the wind out you and watching, while you squealed like a pig on the ground.

When I was done with my set (that only took about 4 seconds) I began to restack the weights for you until I decided to grace you with the same amount of respect that you had shown me all morning. I proceeded to stack ONE 45 lb weight (the opposite way) and walk out the door triumphantly as you stared in disbelief.

I am sorry that your mother never taught you how to be respectful to women. I would be bitter too if I had to go home to that steamboat of a wife you’ve probably got.

I hope that when you leave the gym you choke and die on the Egg Mcuffin that you stop to get after your “rigorous” work out. I am sure that after a work out like yours, you deserve every cheesy bite of it!

Your friend in Christ,
T.A.O.