Snarklings vs the Snarkometer #31
"They put formaldehyde in that, you know."
The transvestite said this to me as we both stood in our socks and underwear, watching a beer commercial on the locker-room TV. The smell of chlorine was giving me a headache.
Miss Snark has a sudden rush of gratitude that the gin pail is the GIN pail, not the beer bucket.
I'm fat and depressed, by the way.
My doctor said to start exercising, that it would improve my mood. So I joined a gym.
It's hard for me to get out of bed in the morning and hard for me to fall asleep at night --a possible symptom of depression, my doctor tells me. Because of the insomnia thing, I figured the best thing was to exercise at night after work. I work nights --did I tell you that? -- so I needed a 24-hour gym. Hence 24 Hour Fitness.
"did I tell you that" just makes me want to pour beer on your head. It takes me right OUT of the narrative.
Remember how your professor told you never to trust anyone who works at night? He could do a case study at this gym. Lots of weirdoes. Not so weird that you would look twice at them -- except for the transvestites --but collectively, it was quite a force of oddity that I had to endure. There were a few normal people, like me, but even the people who worked there were weird.
Not many people worked out at night, so I always felt a little odd going. It was like you were in the mall five minutes before closing time. The Mexicans were scurrying around cleaning the place, feather dusters in hand and vacuuming -- they had the collection canisters strapped to their backs.
So it began.
"so it began" is like "did I tell you" ..and what happened to the transvestite and the beer? You get me all a' twitter for hot juicy chicks with dicks, and brewskis, and next thing I know I'm watching someone with a feather duster. I'm annoyed. I want the hotties! Naked if possible.
I have a feeling this suffers from the One Page Syndrome. I'd read on, if only to find out if the transvestite gets naked. One can only hope.