Foxtrot…Charlie Foxtrot

Star Date 19092016

Yep…Awoke about 5 minutes before my alarm. Finally some sense of normalcy. Alas, still only a little over five hours of sleep, and yes, it still took way to long to fall asleep. Awoke to the theme song to? Bond…James Bond. Pick one. Sean is still the number one for most. I am a Remington Steele ….er …Pierce Brosnan as Bond. Complete smartass but had the gadgets to back up the mouth:

In honor of the theme song running in my head, I opted for Craig Daniel in Spectre, this morning for my sweltering walk on a cup-rattling treadmill. Good times…had by none. Save one. I’m a head down, minding my own business kind of bloke. I rather do not like the general public. This is an especially true statement of my feelings of people at any gym, anywhere America. Okay…except Houston, TX. More on that in a moment. Today’s shiny, happy person (reference Shiny, Happy People by R.E.M.), at way too early of an hour, and likely any time, was a chubby, older fella. He was five treadmills away with all kinds of equipment to drown out his??? Singing. Yep. Top of his voice and getting all kinds of stairs. He must’ve thought he was alone in his shower. Or worse, not alone in his shower. Eww. I’ve never heard anything like this. It was amazing…like train wreck amazing…not to be confused with this Trainwreck:

Hilarious and should be kept away from the younger crowd.

5 am at any gym is a spectacle. The old man coffee club…oblivious to others wanting to use the equipment they fell asleep on or are just sitting on whilst talking with their elderly buddies. Here’s an idea…go to coffee after you complete your workout. The DB faction…always. Several…No brah hugs at 5 am…just head nods, protein shakes, lugged gym bags…for what purpose? Are they afraid someone is gonna steal their steroids? Here’s an idea…after playing grab-ass in the public shower or shaving your privates in one of the two sinks, clean up after yourselves…And seriously…why do they carry gym bags through their entire arm or chest workouts? Idiots. Try legs…just one day a week. Stop using your gym bag as a place holder at the most popular bench, while you flirt with the female version of yourself…and work out for real…not just chug from your gallon container of water that was only half full when you sauntered in the door, making sure everyone noticed you with your OTE Beats by Dre. Next on my list? The smelly guy. Either BO or vitamin smelling…typically…at least when I get stuck next to them, it is fish oil or garlic. Offensive, as they are all mouth-breathing troglodytes. These are also the ones who sweat on a machine and don’t wipe it up. I should note here that these are different than the runners on treadmills. They come in, get to their favorite treadmill and outrun all others…pace and distance. They sweat like certain folks who don’t normally attend church. See how I churched that up? So my issue with them? They sweat in all directions. Themselves, machine, cup holders, belt of said treadmill, handles, TV atop the treadmill, floor, innocent women and children. …and …you guessed it. They do not wipe down the machines afterwards. My idea for this? The folks on either side of running man…no, not this 1987 classic with little Dick Dawson (of Hogan’s Heros and Family Feud fame):

The folks on either side should have access to an additional quick stop button. You know the one…it halts all forward motion in less than the blink of Charlie’s eyes. That’d fix their little red wagon. Yes, their are women versions of these idiots as well, but I choose not to pick on them…although some warrant it. These people really do exist at all major gyms and certain time brackets. You could literally set a watch to them. Thus…I keep my nose, face, Charlie, and all body odor, to myself. Fluids as well…bottled and mine own. Towel. Carry one. Use it liberally.

Fast forward. My Fitbit is giving me fits…again. I walked at a 4 mph pace for a total of 5 miles. Fitbit says I only walked 7600ish steps. I’m not real goodly at mathematics, but even I…shoes off and using my malformed toes for additional assistance, can figure out that ain’t right. Shortly after recognizing this first world tragedy, I received a phone call from my friendly, neighborhood…albeit not my neighborhood…neurosurgeon’s office. After being told I am clear for surgery on all test…including the nasal swab…a test similar to a throat culture only up your nose. In my case, I am certain they poked Charlie because that day he was hyperactive, post-test…I am now being told I have a nasal staph infection. Worried? Nope. Doc planned ahead and wrote a script for some super salve for my nares. That should be fun. With any luck, it will smell like sweaty, garlic, mouth-breather guy from the gym. Between these two trivial issues, and phone calls, emails, and the like, it is definitely a Monday. Now…before I am condescended to by those with outside influences, namely TV, I do not watch TV. Not reruns, prime time, cable, satellite. No, not sports, either…last I checked that would still be included with watching TV. I would liken this to the person that is always amazed that I do not eat anything from water. Why do I liken it to this? Snapshot of any conversation I’ve ever had regarding seafood:

person – So, you don’t like seafood?

me – nope. Nothing from water.

person – Nothing?

me – Nope. (apparently they are so taken aback to my response, they felt repeating the question was worth it)

person – Not even shrimp?

me – nope. They swim.

person – No crab or lobster?

me (look of ‘are you completely serious right now?’) – Not even.

Time to turn the tables…

me – do you know why?

person – allergies?

me – I do not like the smell. Here’s the kicker…I will eat sushi in the form of non-smelly tuna.

Rewind. For those thinking that I forgot about gyms in Houston, TX, I did. In honor of remembering…shout out to Charlie…I worked in TX quite a bit back in the earlyish 2000’s. I experienced something I have never been able to figure out…a phenomenon of sorts. This was not just in Houston, but Ft. Worth as well. Older gals. Much older. Late 70’s to 80’s older. I was in my mid-thirties back in those days. Fat…260 every day and twice on Sunday. These womens…like foods…a completely unnecessary pluralization of a word…would hit on me. Asking for help on a piece of equipment seems harmless enough. Not so innocent when they think I am the equipment. Savages, the lot of them. This has happened nowhere else I have ever been to a gym. Not even Florida. San Franciso? Entirely different set of stories. Entirely. Needless to say I avoided the locker room no differently than I did back in high school. Nothing good can come from that place.

Spotlight. Kim B. I met Ms. Kim shortly after starting at Firestone corporate. She worked in our department and handled all the idiots..including those of us on the inside. Warranty calls, paperwork, invoicing, credits, bosses, etc and so on. Shortly after meeting Rob H…whilst I was in training…which for Firestone consists of: here’s your desk, good luck. When I started, FS had three weeks to get a computer ready for me. I didn’t get it for a month after I started. The first time I met Kim, it was when she came over to Rob’s and my cubes and was talking about a project with Rob, where he had submitted paperwork to her. She said hello to me and then took the folder of papers she had brought over, and stood close to Rob. I feared for Rob. She was serious. Deadly. You might ask here if there are other kinds of serious, and I believe there are, so I do not exaggerate when I say Rob might likely be seeing his final bowl of soup. She let Rob have it…both barrels. He lightened the mood with some joke. She laughed but she was all business. They finished conducting their business and Rob made a smarmy remark as Kim walked away. She came back and smacked him in the back of the head. Akin to the Gibbs head slap from NCIS:

I laughed a bit, but she shot me a look. Then smiled. Ms. Kim does not F around. Work is done to the best of your abilities and she expects no less of herself. Ms. Kim is a no non-sense, black, Wonder Woman. Any question about anything to do with my job, bosses job, other people in the building? Go to Ms. Kim. And don’t you dare ignore her…bad day on your end or not. That is an invitation to a can of whoop-ass. Ms. Kim is family. When times took to getting rough at the Rock, Ms. Kim would say, “We goin to Target at lunch today?” She always knew when one of us needed to get away from the rest of the pack. A stroll through the Target was always a good time. Card section and a few groceries. Coffee. Back to work. Ms. Kim has reared her boy to be an extraordinary young man of manners, respect, pride, and music…he is a talent, and whether or not he knows it, his hero is his mama. He will figure it out…or she may slap him upside his head. Sidebar. If anyone can point out the upside of a head, please do tell. I am quite adept at the human anatomy and have never seen a chart, diagram, drawing, sketch, or other item that points out this body part. Ms. Kim always had an answer or had the person who does. Need something handled? Ask Ms. Kim and know that it will be. Ms. Kim is a God-respecting woman and an Earthly force to be reckoned with. Very few like her. On the fun side, I used to walk over to her cube and stand there while she was on the phone. Not a word. She would hang up and turn in her swivel chair to see me just standing and smiling like a jackass eating cactus. She would jump off that seat and I would walk away laughing. From the short distance back to my cube, I would hear her laugh…and a few others around her. Ms. Kim always, always, always speaks her mind. Do not ask if you do not want the absolute unadulterated truth. No sugar, just facts. She is the queen. I suppose we hit it off not only for our ability to traverse the busy Target aisles in a ricky-tick fashion, but she is a lady of integrity and honor, but our uncanny ability to dislike the same people, quite oft at the same time. Any meeting we were in, she would make the mistake of sitting across from me…or at least in view of my mug. Tragic mistake. A face, or more typically a text, She would laugh silently….but not a laugh that was contained. I’m talking full on body movement…the kind that folk take notice of. No one would dare call her out though. That was my favorite part. She ran our department. Likely still does, and not just because the boss is a complete idiot, she is too intelligent for their own good. She could manage the department if she were not a she. I would love for someone to tell me that I’m incorrect, but this business we are in is run by men…a majority are complete morons. She runs them and they have no clue they are being run. Intelligent and an ass-kicker. Deadly combo. Great woman.

Fast forward. Finished the day with an hour on hold with the IRS, another twenty minutes on hold with the medical insurance idiots. Most importantly, We got Jess’s car back in tip-top conditionish, and had a great meal with Rob S and his fiancee. More than that, we had great conversation that went way too quickly.

Final thought. The day was sh**, yet ended in a Macy’s Day parade kind of feeling. Spectacular stuff, surrounded by excellent food and family. Charlie approves this message.