of mice and midgets

(for want of a better title)

I have two bosses, one who owns the joint, the other who married the owner's sister and co-manages it.

Before I begin, I'd like to clarify that I'm not anti-authoritarian and given a choice, I'd rather work for someone than deal with the headfuck of running my own business. I don't resent being managed, and I have an excellent work ethic.

Having got that out of the way, my first boss is a squirrel snack, and the second is a law suit that hasn't happened yet.

Mitch will probably never get sued for sexual harrassment because while he packs a whole lot of idiot into his short, short body, he's not dumb enough to pull his shit on anyone who'd understand that his behaviour is totally inappropriate. That's code for, he's never pulled his shit with me, and that's code for, he never usually talks to me, period, and that, in my opinion, says a lot about his lack of character.

So, back to the story.

I work a lot of hours at The Shittiest Gym In The World™, and so, train a lot of people. Last Tuesday, I got word that Mitch wanted to talk to me and so, between classes and clients, I went to his office. I was barely through the door when the midget stood up on his tippy toes, shooved a piece of paper in my face and demanded to know what it was.

First up, dwarf, I can't see what it is when it's an inch from my face, and secondly, back off.

Being the shittiest gym in the world, most clients have never set foot in a gym before, so the first challenge is to help then create the habit of coming regularly. Every new member starts out with a bucket load of enthusiasm, and most thrash themselves for a week or two before they begin to drop off, usually after they've done too much, too soon, and are in pain and exhausted and so, miss 'just one session' to recover. Unfortunately that quickly becomes two, then five, then fuck it, I've missed so many sessions, why bother? My challenge as a trainer is to find ways to maintain that initial momentum.

So the piece of paper Mitch was brandishing was actually a program I'd written for someone who wanted to lose the equivilant of half a cow in weight.

This woman didn't want to work out in the gym. She wanted to do aerobics and super circuit, and to use the cardio equipment on a regular basis, so obviously, that's what we talked about. I suggested ways for her to keep her vision and avoid losing enthusiasm. We discussed setting goals that would allow her to feel she was constantly achieving. We talked about how to progress herself so she wouldn't need keep spending twenty five bucks to get new ideas. And finally, I asked her if this was what she wanted from this particular session, and she said yes, it was.

Until she changed her mind and complained about me-loudly-because now she wanted a piece of paper filled with the resistance exercises she balked at two weeks ago.

Good fucking christ.

Before I even started on this complaining bitch's lack of a leg to stand on, I told Mitch that I'd prefer he qualified what happened before he yelled at me. I disagreed that he was 'merely asking' me what happened, telling him that I felt he was unneccessarily aggressive, and that I didn't appreciate it. I referred to the countless other programs I've written, and he said they weren't relevent. That'd be a negative you Napolean-like freak, of course they're relevent, especially since when you're condemning me and my abilities based on one dissatisifed client, who, for what it's worth, did not contribute anything to our session once she'd folded her arms across her chest, shook her head and announced that no, she did NOT want to do weights.

Either I'm very persuasive or he's easily persuaded (no prizes for guessing which it is) because by the end of our little chat, he was agreeing that I indeed, do rock, and that the client involved, doesn't.