My mild irritation with my hokey gym has not abated. It's because I go so damn much. As my ass gets smaller, my negative attitude grows. Plus, I am kind of annoyed with the Great Plan of the Universe in general these days, and since there's nothing I could do about it, ever, I am going to take it out on this bland, corporate entity. Although a few friends have received the verbal rant, allow me to cite the Curves Crimes for posterity:*
1. The culture of relentless greeting and dismissal by name. Quit saying hello to me personally every time I come in. I would much rather get half a glance over a raised newspaper, which is what I get at the Colonial from the sullen desk attendant when I show up to swim and swipe towels. I get the sense that over at Curves Corporate they pride themselves on their training in this. "Make sure every curves member gets greeted by name upon arrival and departure. " It makes the matching gym suit set feel special. I get the feeling the general Curves demographic looks for opportunities to feel special about all kinds of mundane, prosaic functions whenever they feel entitled. I wonder what the overlap is between the gung-ho Curves goer and those who identify with that awful Doves Chocolate ad campaign targeting harried women who are only insured bliss if they eat dove's chocolate pellets every time they manage to rinse out a crock pot or whatever.
All this feeling-good-about-doing-what's-expected-of-you crap leads me to the second Curves Crime...
2. Good-Jobbing the human wrecks who frequent the joint. I get the ol' GJ when I put my RFID tag that tracks my work outs, it's on the door facing me when I leave, and the phrase erupts erratically throughout the duration of my workout as I am exposed to everyone else's inane congratulating of one another over managing to survive half an hour on the curves machine circuit.
3. Infantilizing middle-aged women with goofy games and contests. Since there's no judgement here, I will confess that I actually buy into these. The instructions on the dry-erase board a few days before Halloween instructed us to "wear something orange" to "receive a treat." Since it's a gym, and not a candy store, I participated, thinking maybe I'd score a new hair band or somethin'. But no. It was junky Curves brand snak bars and microwave popcorn. I will conserve the rant about processed diet food for another post.
Now, as we enter the dangerous Holiday Season, with its attendant cookie exchanges and baked bries and ham made with seven-up, the good folks at Curves have initiated the holiday challenge to maintain your weight. It's a sign-up format, they initial your card every time you come in. Every week you are eligible for prizes, prizes, prizes. Stinky candles, ugly hand-knit scarves, it's like a goddamn Methodist Christmas Bazaar in there. Don't get me started on the pot holders. I signed up, sure, but you know, I pray I don't win any of this crazy crappazola. Why do people need prizes to go to the gym? How about avoiding a premature death --when did that stop motivating us?
But I noticed the most galling contest last week. Near this one machine that makes you wave your crotch at all the other gym goers, there's a glossy poster that says Work out Your Brain, too, or somesuch. There are rhyming clues that get revealed over the course of the week. The answers are simple enough for a five year old to figure out: "I hover near flowers and drink nectar, ect. Oh christ, it's a fucking hummingbird, people. There's a cardboard box on a table beneath it, with a pad of answer forms. I have formed a plan, a continuation of my Heh-Heh shoe-switcharoo tactic, only this time I just might cause a stir. Because, you see, flap-readers, I plan to submit one answer, and one answer only for the duration of this imbecilic contest. Sure, the real answer will be random things like Maple Syrup, Hummingbirds or Sewing Machines, but I will only submit one answer each time, because it will always be the correct answer, because this is the answer to all of the ills perpetrated by Curves. The answer, my friend, is Trucknuts.
*Yes, Curves Crimes are so mild, they only deserve to be kicking around void that is my Blogger-brand blog.
