This is another gym-related entry, but it’s considerably less light-hearted and sarcastic than my last one. When I signed up for the gym, my dad (who was already a member) had me meet with one of the marketing guys, a Congolese guy named Jean Paul. He was nice, and friendly, and I enjoyed chatting with him while I was signing up. Since I do attempt to be friendly on occasion, I always said hi to him when I showed up and sometimes he would come and chat with me while I was on the elliptical. I actually hate being talked to at the gym, because I'm trying to concentrate on working on, but this guy was unstoppable! And, he was very friendly so it was hard to just ignore or shut him down.
Unfortunately, his chatting turned into pressuring me for a date. He keeps asking if I will go for drinks with him or to dinner. I told him that I wouldn't go to dinner with him, that I wasn't available and that I just wasn't going out. He then started texting me on my phone, since he had the number in his files. I never responded. I take training sessions at the gym from another trainer (see below post about him) so when I am with my trainer, Jean Paul doesnt' come and bother me. I also told my trainer that I have a boyfriend (which I don't but, he doesn't need to know that) in the hopes that it would get back to Jean Paul and that he would leave me alone. The situation is very delicate for me because I don't want to get this guy fired since he has all our personal information from the sign up sheet and, let's face it, there is a higher risk of crime (including retribution-related) in South Africa.
Anyway, I was spared his advances for a week, but last Friday I was leaving and he asked me, "Hey what happened last Friday night, I thought we were going out for drinks!" I told him that I never committed to anything and that I really didn't know what he was talking about. I also told him that it wasn't possible for me to stay out late and that I have a boyfriend. I'm trying to let him bow out gracefully but apparently he is just gunning for public rejection.
I spoke to my trainer about it yesterday and he told me that I should just ignore Jean Paul because he thinks he is a charmer. There are other women whom he is also asking out on dates all the time. What the fuck? This guy is a total creep and I shouldn't have to be subjected to this bullshit. Women can't fucking get it right, ever. Either you're a sourface who should smile (which is an entirely other fatwa post, old men, stop telling me to smile! It's my choice to frown and I wasn't put on this earth to make YOUR day better!) or you're "leading men on" by being too friendly! I'm so pissed right now I can't even think. I think it is inappropriate and disgusting to hit on women at your place of work. Even creepier, this guy knows my Dad!
Now that I'm really fired up, I'm just going to be very straight with him and say, "Look, I'm not interested in dinner, drinks, or whatever. I'm uncomfortable with your pressuring me for this and I think it's inappropriate that you are trying to ask out women at your place of work. If you don't stop harassing me, I'm going to talk to your manager."
And, if he still won't leave me alone, I'm going to voodoo the fucking shit out of him and he won't know what hit him. And probably go all krav maga on his ass.
Showing posts with label gym. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gym. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Ginger and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
I am calling fatwa on all of yesterday—hear me, o readers, Monday, July 20, 2009 was a really crappy day. First of all, I had to re-do my class schedule about eight times. Information on what classes to take is (no surprise here!) difficult to find on the T-Bird Registrar’s website and is poorly organized to boot. I then discovered that I had the class codes wrong for two classes, which resulted in more organization. I thought that I had everything figured out neatly until Panos kindly wrote me to let me know that I still had the wrong class code for Ops Management, and that it was only offered in the 2nd module, which means that now I have 4 classes in the 1st module and SEVEN, yes, that’s right, SEVEN in the second. Basically if I want to take Business Presentation, I’ll have that many classes. This is unacceptable. Additionally, there are about 150 people who need to take Ops Management and there is only one section. How about that? Sometimes I really hate this school and want to make a big, fat pile of money and drop out. I emailed Kay Keck and Paula Friesen about this; fat chance they’ll do anything, as per usual.
I then went to the gym, where my trainer proceeded to tell me that I used to be fat (again) and that I had many parts of my body that were “flabby.” Fuck you, man, seriously. Telling people that they are fat is not motivating, it is insulting and in fact, puts you into a shame spiral of depression that makes you considerably less likely to want to do anything except curl up on the couch with a pie and eat the whole thing. I told him to his face that he should 1) shut the fuck up and stop calling people fat and 2) that he had body dysmorphic disorder that he projected onto others.
Then, a little bit later, he asked me, “what’s that thing on your nose?” You know what that thing is on my nose? It’s a giant fucking zit. Thank you, Lindwell, for pointing out the huge, enormous, erupting and red zit on my nose. This thing is epic. It’s the Mt. Everest of zits. It may be the unholy union of two zits, in fact, making up for the fact that I haven’t had one in almost a year. This thing is like the One Ring of zits—one zit to rule them all and in the darkness bind them. I look like fucking Rudolph the Red Nosed fat, flabby reindeer. This day just keeps getting better! I was so annoyed at him that I started responding very loudly. I think my monologue went something like this:
“Oh, what is that thing on my nose? The giant, angry looking, red bump? I’ll tell you what it is, it’s a zit! Thank you so much for pointing it out to me, up until this very moment, I had no idea an enormous pimple was erupting on my nose! Excuse me, everyone! [At this point I start practically yelling at everyone in the gym] Lindwell has a very important announcement for everyone, he would like to you all to know that I have a giant zit on my nose and that it’s obvious! Next time, I’ll make sure to circle it and put an arrow so you don’t miss it!”
Was I being a brat? Yes. Was I still bitter about being called fat/flabby? Yes. Serves him right.
Oh, and then later, I realized that I lost one of my Tokidoki earrings, which were one of my favorites... I lost the Sandy so now I just have a sad Bastardino earring that's lonely.
I then went to the gym, where my trainer proceeded to tell me that I used to be fat (again) and that I had many parts of my body that were “flabby.” Fuck you, man, seriously. Telling people that they are fat is not motivating, it is insulting and in fact, puts you into a shame spiral of depression that makes you considerably less likely to want to do anything except curl up on the couch with a pie and eat the whole thing. I told him to his face that he should 1) shut the fuck up and stop calling people fat and 2) that he had body dysmorphic disorder that he projected onto others.
Then, a little bit later, he asked me, “what’s that thing on your nose?” You know what that thing is on my nose? It’s a giant fucking zit. Thank you, Lindwell, for pointing out the huge, enormous, erupting and red zit on my nose. This thing is epic. It’s the Mt. Everest of zits. It may be the unholy union of two zits, in fact, making up for the fact that I haven’t had one in almost a year. This thing is like the One Ring of zits—one zit to rule them all and in the darkness bind them. I look like fucking Rudolph the Red Nosed fat, flabby reindeer. This day just keeps getting better! I was so annoyed at him that I started responding very loudly. I think my monologue went something like this:
“Oh, what is that thing on my nose? The giant, angry looking, red bump? I’ll tell you what it is, it’s a zit! Thank you so much for pointing it out to me, up until this very moment, I had no idea an enormous pimple was erupting on my nose! Excuse me, everyone! [At this point I start practically yelling at everyone in the gym] Lindwell has a very important announcement for everyone, he would like to you all to know that I have a giant zit on my nose and that it’s obvious! Next time, I’ll make sure to circle it and put an arrow so you don’t miss it!”
Was I being a brat? Yes. Was I still bitter about being called fat/flabby? Yes. Serves him right.
Oh, and then later, I realized that I lost one of my Tokidoki earrings, which were one of my favorites... I lost the Sandy so now I just have a sad Bastardino earring that's lonely.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Wacky Wednesday
My work schedule is ridiculous regimented and annoying. I get up at 5:40am and leave the house by 6:10am. My dad and I drive from Fourways, which is a suburb in northwest Johannesburg, and drive to his office in Woodmead, which is a suburb in northeast Johannesburg. I then drop him off and continue on to my office in Sandton, which is south of Woodmead. I work from 7-4, then go back to Woodmead and go to the gym. At 6pm, my father and I depart his office and drive back to Fourways, where we eat dinner, clean up, watch an episode of House and then my dad goes to be at 9:30. I usually force myself to go to bed around 10:30 or 11pm, as I can't fall asleep any earlier. Thus, today's first fatwa is on regimented schedules.
As South Africa is a developing country, there is still a large population of urban poor who cannot afford to own their own car and must rely on a form of group transport, the minibus. Minibus drivers always drive beat up Toyota Siyaya vans which seat fifteen plus one passenger up front. There is a complicated system of hand signals which passengers use to flag down buses and indicate their destination; most hand signals are highly colloquial. Fares are on the basis of whether or not your Zulu is colloquial enough to make the driver think you know what you're doing. The minibus taxis would be a great resource with the exception of their extreme danger. Most white South Africans tell me that you'll get robbed or knifed on the minibus, which is unlikely. You will, however, be putting your life at risk to get into a horrible auto accident. Most minibuses are rented, so drivers have little incentive to keep up maintenance or even care about a dent or minor fender bender. Minibuses are notorious for taking as many road shortcuts as possible (i.e. driving on the right if traffic one way is slow, going the short way around the rotary [which happened this morning]) as well as stopping and starting randomly in traffic to pick up passengers. They also take turns indiscriminately from any lane and are in general a menace to society. So, today, I declare fatwa on dangerous minibus taxi drivers, especially given that I almost got hit by two on the way to work, one going the wrong way in the rotary by my house and the other who cut me off during a right-hand turn.
As South Africa is a developing country, there is still a large population of urban poor who cannot afford to own their own car and must rely on a form of group transport, the minibus. Minibus drivers always drive beat up Toyota Siyaya vans which seat fifteen plus one passenger up front. There is a complicated system of hand signals which passengers use to flag down buses and indicate their destination; most hand signals are highly colloquial. Fares are on the basis of whether or not your Zulu is colloquial enough to make the driver think you know what you're doing. The minibus taxis would be a great resource with the exception of their extreme danger. Most white South Africans tell me that you'll get robbed or knifed on the minibus, which is unlikely. You will, however, be putting your life at risk to get into a horrible auto accident. Most minibuses are rented, so drivers have little incentive to keep up maintenance or even care about a dent or minor fender bender. Minibuses are notorious for taking as many road shortcuts as possible (i.e. driving on the right if traffic one way is slow, going the short way around the rotary [which happened this morning]) as well as stopping and starting randomly in traffic to pick up passengers. They also take turns indiscriminately from any lane and are in general a menace to society. So, today, I declare fatwa on dangerous minibus taxi drivers, especially given that I almost got hit by two on the way to work, one going the wrong way in the rotary by my house and the other who cut me off during a right-hand turn.
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