I haven't discussed the jerks at my new gym pool yet because there haven't been many. I've touched on Smelly Swim Coach and the hot lifeguards. Fortunately, I finally bumped into a couple of serious jerk candidates two weeks ago.
The people at this pool are much different than those at my other gym. For one, there aren't any fat ladies who feast on unsuspecting swimmers. The crowd at this pool takes swimming more seriously. There's a group of usually five swimmers who take up a lane each day and swim 3,000 or so meters.
I personally find that ridiculous. How can any human being swim more than a mile without getting out of the pool right away, driving over to Taco Bell and scarfing down at least half-a-dozen tacos? Swimming makes me hungry, so it's just an excuse to eat more tacos. I've discovered that I reach my taco efficiency at a mile, so there's no point in exceeding that. Whatever. Some people are stupid.
At any rate, it's rare to find anyone slacking off at this pool. Even the old men swim for an hour non-stop. That's why I was so surprised to encounter a dude resting at the wall for what seemed like 20 minutes last Thursday.
This guy was bald and had a very hairy gut. I remember this because I felt like I needed to vomit every time I passed by him. He just stood there for what seemed like an eternity. When I was about to push off the wall during my final third of the mile, I finally took a closer look at his face. He really looked like he wanted to talk to me; as if his eyes were trying to get my attention.
I naturally ignored him. I swam two laps, but decided that I should speak to him. What if he had crucial information? What if there was a life-or-death situation of some sort? What if they were giving away free tacos? Tacos are very important!
I stopped at the wall and lifted up my goggles.
Me: What's up?
Gut Man: BLEEGHHHH!!!
And with that, Gut Man pushed off the wall.
I don't know how to feel about this. I've never been "BLEEGHHHed" at before. I thought this might be some secret code for "there are free tacos stashed in the back of the men's locker room," but I searched and found nothing. Jerk.
I finished up my mile. Since there were no tacos in sight to calm my nerves after that "BLEEGHHH" situation, I thought it would be best if I jumped into the hot tub.
I walked over and noticed that there was a fat man in the hot tub. What caught my attention was that he appeared to be humping the wall. Seriously, he was facing the back wall of the hot tub, and motioning up and down rather quickly.
Look, I don't want to offend anyone. I know some are into same-sex stuff, and there's nothing wrong with that. Other people like bestiality. Not that there's anything wrong with that either. And I'm sure there is a segment of society that likes to hump hot tub walls. There's nothing wrong with any of that stuff. I just don't like to see it.
No lewd activities from any wall-humper were going to stop me from melting in the hot tub, however, so I stepped in. This startled the fat man, who blurted out a few Russian words before addressing me.
Wall-Humper: Iz too hot! Iz too hot! Iz too hot!
So you had to hump the wall?
Me: It's actually not that hot in here.
Wall-Humper: Iz too cold! Iz too cold! Iz too cold!
Make up your f***ing mind, idiot.
Me: Yeah, it's pretty chilly.
Wall-Humper: Need go! Need go! Need go!
Wall-Humper scurried out of the hot tub and wobbled back to the locker room. I just sat there for about 10 minutes - of course, after checking the part of the wall he was humping to see if there were any tacos hidden there.
JERK OF THE WEEK NO. 2: Thirty Dollar Man
No tacos, no hot water in the hot tub, no hot lifeguard chicks to get rejected by on that particular afternoon. Worst. Day. Ever.
The locker room showers didn't have hot water either. I walked into the shower area - wearing swim trunks, of course - when I spotted a fat, elderly Russian man testing the shower water with his hand. When he noticed me, he warned me about it. I'm going to call him Thirty Dollar Man (you'll see why soon).
Thirty Dollar Man: Iz no hot vater in shower!
Me: Really? That sucks.
I turned another shower on, and sure enough, Thirty Dollar Man was right. The water was freezing.
Thirty Dollar Man: Iz no hot vater! You can no go in shower!
Me: I wasn't planning on it.
Thirty Dollar Man: No hot vater! No soap! You cannot go!
Me: I don't need soap. I just wanted to rinse the chlorine off.
Thirty Dollar Man: Iz no hot soap! Iz no hot water!
Me: Hot soap?
Thirty Dollar Man: No soap! No vater!
Me: Now I'm confused.
A naked husky man with a goatee entered the shower area. He overheard the conversation I was having with Thirty Dollar Man.
Husky Man: Did you just say that there's no hot water in the shower?
Thirty Dollar Man: Iz no hot water! Iz no soap! You cannot go vis zis no hot water and no soap!
Husky Man: That's what we get for paying $30 a month to go here, eh?
Thirty Dollar Man: I pay circy dollars a day for membership!
Husky Man: Thirty dollars a day?
Thirty Dollar Man: Circy dollars a day for membership!
Me: What the hell kind of a gym membership plan do you have?
Husky Man: Ha! Seriously. I think you mean you pay $30 a month like the rest of us.
Thirty Dollar Man: No no no no! How you pay circy dollars a mons? I pay circy dollars a day for no soap and no hot vater!
Wow. If Thirty Dollar Man is right, he pays $10,950 per year for his membership. He probably has to take out a loan from the bank just to keep going to this gym.
JERK OF THE WEEK NO. 3: Man from the Future
OK, I lied. Weeks ago, I was so frustrated by the Rite-Aid near my parents' house that I said I wouldn't ever go again.
I went back last Wednesday - but only to use the pharmacy. They already have my information in the computer, so I don't feel like going through all that with another pharmacy. I guess being lazy trumps seeing poop stains on the floor.
I had a script from my doctor for sleeping pills - I've been able to get to sleep, but I tend to wake up 3-4 hours later and can't fall back asleep - so I drove over to that particular Rite-Aid. When I walked in, I was pretty impressed. It looked all clean and organized, and the poop stains that were once on the floor were all gone. Hopefully the fat man who did that never comes back again.
Better yet, there was an unbelievably hot pharmacist. She was a tall, Russian brunette around my age (29). Her face was pretty solid, but her body, particularly her long legs, really stood out. I instantly fell in love.
I gave her the script...
Hot Russian Pharmacist: Please to come back to pick up medicine.
Me: How long will it take?
Hot Russian Pharmacist: Eh... please to come back von hour.
With an hour to kill, I drove to Primo's and bought one of their world-famous hoagies. I then went back to my old gym (it's right near the Rite-Aid). There were a few fat women in the pool, but they were all distracted by the fact that one of the four ladders was broken. God forbid they had to wobble over to the other side of the pool and use another ladder.
I swam a mile, got dressed and drove back to Rite-Aid. It had been 90 minutes since I gave Hot Russian Pharmacist by script, but she told me it still wasn't ready.
Hot Russian Pharmacist: Iz not ready. Vill be a couple of minute. Please to go walk around.
Hot Russian Pharmacist practically shooed me off. Guess our love wasn't mutual. She's hot though, so I did what she said and walked around the store. I walked down every single aisle just in case she was watching. All the while though, I was pretty pissed off. I don't get why it took an hour and a half to put some pills into a bottle. That should take five minutes; 10 minutes tops. What do these pharmacists do for hours upon hours while we wait for our medicine to get filled? I don't think we'll ever know.
At any rate, I walked around the entire Rite-Aid and wandered back to the pharmacy section. Hot Russian Pharmacist told me that "medicine for you iz ready" but that I had to wait behind a fat old man, who also had to pick up his order.
Nothing seemed out or ordinary at first - until Hot Russian Pharmacist asked him his date of birth for some sort of verification.
Hot Russian Pharmacist: Vat iz your date of birs?
Old Fat Man: Back there! Back there!
Hot Russian Pharmacist: Vat you say?
Old Fat Man: Back there! Back! Back! Back!
The old, fat man was completely incoherent. He was pointing to something in the back of the pharmacy, but Hot Russian Pharmacist paid no attention.
Hot Russian Pharmacist: Can I have your date of birs to please?
Old Fat Man: Back there! Back! Back! Back there!
Hot Russian Pharmacist: I need your date of birs to please.
Old Fat Man: Back back back back back back there! Back there!
Hot Russian Pharmacist: To please! Date of birs to please!
I could barely contain my laughter, but Hot Russian Pharmacist was extremely pissed. I guess the old fat man was scared - and I certainly don't blame him - so he finally relented.
Hot Russian Pharmacist: Your date of birs to please!
Old Fat Man: Ehh... ehh... 4034...
I burst out laughing, but neither person heard me. 4034? What the hell? That means he's minus-2023 years old. Maybe the thing "back back back back back there" was his time portal.
Hot Russian Pharmacist didn't share in my amusement.
Hot Russian Pharmacist: Vat iz year of your date of birs to please?
Man from the Future: 4034...
Hot Russian Pharmacist: Vat iz day of date of birs to please!
Man from the Future: Ehh... 84...
Hot Russian Pharmacist: Vat iz day of date of birs to please!
Man from the Future: Ehh... back there... back back...
Hot Russian Pharmacist: Give to me mons of birs!
Man from the Future: Ehh... red... ehh...
At least that's what I think he said. Hot Russian Pharmacist deemed it acceptable because she typed it into the computer.
So this Man from the Future apparently was born on Red 84th, 4034. You know, I'm willing to bet that pharmacists still take 90 minutes to fill orders by then.
I don't get the Garrett Sickels pick in the 3rd when your own evaluation of him clearly states that you believe he his a 3-4 OLB in the NFL and a day 3 pick at best. I think Dallas would rather take the risk with Carl Lawson in that spot than give it to a career rotational player at best.