DON'T TAP ON THE GLASS
I wish that old lady would stop looking at me.
She was on drugs and had the eyes of
a badger. I ran on that treadmill with my heart pounding in my ears.
I had to focus on my workout. I had to concentrate. Forget
about that crackhead outside trying to be sexy. She grabbed her crotch with her left hand and made little jumping
movements and fondled her tongue and hollered sensual, gladiatorial
sounds. All that passion made me shudder. I hated being up front.
Just yesterday, three rich, Japanese women stopped at the window,
pointed at me, laughed with their hands over their lips, and scurried
away on their high heels. Why were they giggling? What did I do? I
knew what they were talking about....
“ He'll never have a chance
with erotic, successful, Asian women like us,” says Lady #1.
“ I'd rather stick my face in
an overzealous alligator than kiss that guy,” says Lady #2.
Forget them. Focus on your exercise. O n most days, you'd find me running near the back wall. That
day was different. See, I was there for Nikki.
She was on the center treadmill, five down from me. The plan? Go
treadmill-hopping and get next to her. Just keep running, I
thought. Don't look at her. Say nothing. Play it cool. Let
her get used to your presence first – your scent .
Two men stood outside the window and looked at Nikki. They dressed
like they were going to a hip, douchebag club – with their
tongues hanging out, their tilted baseball caps, their white dress
shirts, their blue jeans, their white shoes. They longed for her. Ah!
This was perfect. They had her attention. It was time for me to get
closer....The old crack addict in the blue church dress wobbled
closer to the window and gazed up at me. She smiled and got nasty –
drilled her right hand in and out of her mouth. She was determined.
Her wooden teeth fell out and shattered on the pavement, some
ricocheting off the window. Still running, I blurted:
“ Good Lord! Help us sinners!”
I turned off the treadmill and sucked in air. The crackhead shoved in
a new set of teeth and made a kissy face and massaged her breasts.
The fitness center's security guard was standing nearby and eating a
piece of cake with chopsticks. I reached out to him.
“ Herb, can't you do something?
Jesus, Mary and Jerome...I'm a disturbed paying customer.”
He shrugged.
“ I'm on break. Can't you see
I'm trying to learn how to eat cake with chopsticks? I have that
Japan trip next month. It'll be great. I'm gonna buy so many panties
from vending machines. Did you know they're from real high school
girls?”
I shook my head.
“ You idiot. That's a myth. Not
to mention severely gross. Pervert Hell's waiting for you.”
I heard tapping on the window. The
old woman's mouth was on it – tongue dancing and leaving behind
trails of spit. She banged her fists on the glass. “I love you!
I love you, boy !”
My eyes got real wide with shame. I looked around, then pointed to
myself.
“ Me?”
She kicked at the window.
“ Just give me a chance! Don't
judge me until you've sampled my wares!”
I jumped back, sure that she'd crash through. Then Nikki howled in
frustration and jumped off her treadmill. The place shook a little.
That's what happens when you're seven feet tall.
“ I can't work under these
bestial conditions!”
Herb rolled his eyes and groaned. “Stop your bellyaching,
Nikki. Get back on that treadmill and do what you do.” He put
his cake down and sauntered over to the window. He waved his hands
around and spoke like an angel, like he was talking to a venomous
snake.
“ Easy, lady. You better leave
before I call the cops.”
The old woman looked appalled.
“ Peace be with you.”
She smiled, bowed, and skipped down the sidewalk, singing "Skip
to My Lou".
I heard demanding voices. The two douchebags from earlier were at the
front desk, asking about Nikki. The receptionist smiled and pulled on
a cord. The owner of the joint – Seria – strutted out
I wish that old lady would stop looking at me.
She was on drugs and had the eyes of
a badger. I ran on that treadmill with my heart pounding in my ears.
I had to focus on my workout. I had to concentrate. Forget
about that crackhead outside trying to be sexy. She grabbed her crotch with her left hand and made little jumping
movements and fondled her tongue and hollered sensual, gladiatorial
sounds. All that passion made me shudder. I hated being up front.
Just yesterday, three rich, Japanese women stopped at the window,
pointed at me, laughed with their hands over their lips, and scurried
away on their high heels. Why were they giggling? What did I do? I
knew what they were talking about....
“ He'll never have a chance
with erotic, successful, Asian women like us,” says Lady #1.
“ I'd rather stick my face in
an overzealous alligator than kiss that guy,” says Lady #2.
Forget them. Focus on your exercise. O n most days, you'd find me running near the back wall. That
day was different. See, I was there for Nikki.
She was on the center treadmill, five down from me. The plan? Go
treadmill-hopping and get next to her. Just keep running, I
thought. Don't look at her. Say nothing. Play it cool. Let
her get used to your presence first – your scent .
Two men stood outside the window and looked at Nikki. They dressed
like they were going to a hip, douchebag club – with their
tongues hanging out, their tilted baseball caps, their white dress
shirts, their blue jeans, their white shoes. They longed for her. Ah!
This was perfect. They had her attention. It was time for me to get
closer....The old crack addict in the blue church dress wobbled
closer to the window and gazed up at me. She smiled and got nasty –
drilled her right hand in and out of her mouth. She was determined.
Her wooden teeth fell out and shattered on the pavement, some
ricocheting off the window. Still running, I blurted:
“ Good Lord! Help us sinners!”
I turned off the treadmill and sucked in air. The crackhead shoved in
a new set of teeth and made a kissy face and massaged her breasts.
The fitness center's security guard was standing nearby and eating a
piece of cake with chopsticks. I reached out to him.
“ Herb, can't you do something?
Jesus, Mary and Jerome...I'm a disturbed paying customer.”
He shrugged.
“ I'm on break. Can't you see
I'm trying to learn how to eat cake with chopsticks? I have that
Japan trip next month. It'll be great. I'm gonna buy so many panties
from vending machines. Did you know they're from real high school
girls?”
I shook my head.
“ You idiot. That's a myth. Not
to mention severely gross. Pervert Hell's waiting for you.”
I heard tapping on the window. The
old woman's mouth was on it – tongue dancing and leaving behind
trails of spit. She banged her fists on the glass. “I love you!
I love you, boy !”
My eyes got real wide with shame. I looked around, then pointed to
myself.
“ Me?”
She kicked at the window.
“ Just give me a chance! Don't
judge me until you've sampled my wares!”
I jumped back, sure that she'd crash through. Then Nikki howled in
frustration and jumped off her treadmill. The place shook a little.
That's what happens when you're seven feet tall.
“ I can't work under these
bestial conditions!”
Herb rolled his eyes and groaned. “Stop your bellyaching,
Nikki. Get back on that treadmill and do what you do.” He put
his cake down and sauntered over to the window. He waved his hands
around and spoke like an angel, like he was talking to a venomous
snake.
“ Easy, lady. You better leave
before I call the cops.”
The old woman looked appalled.
“ Peace be with you.”
She smiled, bowed, and skipped down the sidewalk, singing "Skip
to My Lou".
I heard demanding voices. The two douchebags from earlier were at the
front desk, asking about Nikki. The receptionist smiled and pulled on
a cord. The owner of the joint – Seria – strutted out
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