The Imposter of the Big Boy Gym

Tonight at the gym, I bravely decided to venture into The Heart of Darkness . . . AKA the "big boy" side of the gym where all the souped-up-truck-driving, Apex-security-selling, small-wienered creatine addicts work out. Oh, and that one tiny (albeit ripped) Mexican girl with the HUGEST implants I've ever seen. 

Anyway, so I go over to the little squat bar place thingy (my apologies: I don't speak meathead) and--lo and behold!--the toolbag who did squats before me decided not to re-rack his weights (so annoying). There are three 45-pound weights on both sides of the bar. I began taking the weights off one by one, mentally cursing its previous user who was no doubt downing a protein shake by now and wondering which Ed Hardy shirt to wear tomorrow . . .

Have you ever seen a cartoon where a fat kid jumps on the see-saw and sends the skinny kid flying?

I watched in horror as simple physics took place right before my very eyes. I had taken three 45-pound weights off one side of the squat bar . . . but none on the other side. Before I had time to warn the guy next to me doing clean-and-jerks to watch out for the flying squat bar, it landed with a deafening THUD against the gym floor. A hush fell over the gym as the echo rumbled through the air.

Dozens of eyes turned to look at the imposter of the big boy gym. I felt like a person who'd just farted loudly in a crowded elevator. It was awkward, embarrassing . . . and really, really funny.

The clean-and-jerker (now that sounds awkward) I almost killed graciously helped me put everything back together. My mess looked like a giant tetherball pole--what with the three sets of weights on the bottom and a long metal pole jutting upwards out of the hole in the middle.

For the record: I rocked that set of squats.

AND I re-racked the weights when I was done.