Wednesday, January 27, 2010

"A Quick Spot"

“Hey, man, can I get a quick spot?”

“Sure. How many are you going for?”

“Just a little warm up. I’ll go for a thousand.”

“A thousand reps?”

“Yeah, just let me pump them out.”

“How long is this going to take?”

“About an hour.”

“You want me to spot you for an hour?”

“Yeah. It’s just common courtesy. Gym etiquette. Come on, bro, let’s get going. I need a lift-off.”

“Wait a second. I have things to do. I need to get out of here in fifteen minutes.”

“What the hell, man. You said you’d spot me.”

“You are planning to do far more reps than I planned on.”

“Big whoop. If you can’t take the heat stay out of the kitchen.”

“What the hell? You still want to do a thousand reps.”

“Right. Come on, man, the time will fly by. Just watch the TV.”

“What? No! I’m leaving.”

“Jesus Christ, I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I’d spot you, man.”

“Yeah, and I’d be doing six reps. It would take twenty seconds.”

“What happened to manners?”

“I’m leaving. I hope your pecs rip off around your eight-hundredth rep and you die.”

“Sweet God! You are being very offensive!”

“You’re ridiculous! A thousand reps is your warm-up? What’s your workout like? Actually, don’t answer that. I have no idea why I’m still talking to you and I don’t want to hear what your insane answer is. You are like no human I have ever seen. You behave like a cartoon. I don’t care anymore for your lies or your exaggerations or your crazy workout or your crazier demands. I want to never see you again, unless it’s your photo in the obituaries. Good luck finding a spotter.”

“Right. Anyway, you still good for that spot?”

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