I hate my gym

I really don’t want to sound like a gym douche, but I think I have some justification for the gripes I have with my gym.  Gym douches gripe about inconsequential matters, like whining about the influx of new members after Thanksgiving, New Years, and prior to Spring Break.  And how they clog up all the machines and weight stations with their low-impact, laughable-to-them weight numbers.  About how they might not be doing something properly, or their choice of gym attire is too new and fashionable to look like a serious gym-goer.

No, I don’t have problems with any of that, because none of that is particularly surprising.  All of the above happens all the time, every year, like clockwork, so that stuff doesn’t really bother me that much, not to where I feel the need to gripe about it.  My gym gripes are mostly related to the fact that my gym is staffed, or rather in this case, not adequately staffed, and that the gym’s clientele is full of inconsiderate, rude, mostly meathead, assholes.

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