Wednesday, January 21, 2015

Bethany's in the house

Bethany's in the house! Bethany's IN the house. Do you know who that is? That's Bethany!

This is what I hear every time I go to the gym (except Monday's, glorious Mondays) from Tony, the front desk guy. Tony, Tony, Tony. I can't escape him. If he's in the middle of a conversation with someone else and I think I can sneak by, he will stop his conversation and tell the person what a big deal I am.

I cannot figure out why this started. He is decidedly NOT hitting on me. I see him at 6 in the morning when I am bleary-eyed and  unshowered with no makeup. The one time he saw me after my workout and shower, he said he would've dressed better if he had known the queen was coming? Ummm...

I think he's just enthusiastic and I might be the person who signals his shift is ending, but now I can't put a stop to it without being a total jerk. He does have conversations with me beyond announcing that I am now, indeed, in the house. He once asked me how I slept (um, what? That's not small talk), told me about the last concert he saw in 2002 (his last movie in the theater was in 2007. Did you know they charge like 15 bucks a ticket now!?), and you know, a dozen other little jokey comments that I can't understand so I just smile uncomfortably and back away.

It's too late for me and Tony. This relationship is cemented. I was too nice from the get-go. But how can I nip in the bud conversations with the old lady in her underwear (thank god for those huge cotton panties) who wants to tell me her plans for having her skirts hemmed? Or waxes poetic about her love of saunas (should I tell her the gym doesn't have a sauna?). Or says "Ta da!" when she gets her shirt on?! Just let me sweat in peace, people!

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