Dear Douchebag:
Yesterday when I walked into our small apartment community gym and saw you sitting on one of the weight machines, the first thing I noticed was the large and prominent Bluetooth headset sticking out of your ear. I shrugged it off thinking "no way is this guy a big enough douchebag to actually use that thing in the small gym."
I, of course, woefully underestimated your douche level.
Two minutes into my workout you answered a call on your phone, quit your workout and sat on one of the machines, talking and laughing so loudly I could hear you very clearly over my IN EAR iPod headphones that were turned up as high as I could bear. Your loud, forcibly drawn out guffaws made it impossible for me to concentrate and ruined my rhythm and workout.
I waited for your phone call to end, stopped my workout and confronted you. Maybe you remember this exchange:
Me: "Could you please not talk on your phone in here? You're really loud and it's rude."
You: "I get phone calls all the time. I can't help it, it's what I do, you know. People are always calling me."
Me: "Next time someone calls please take it outside. You're really loud and rude."
You: "I can't help it. I get a lot of phone calls."
Me: "Then workout somewhere else! If you're living here I doubt you're important enough to need to take phone calls while you're in here."
It seems by some miracle you managed to not get a phone call for the next 20 minutes, but you DID grunt like you were birthing a baby on that weight machine and consistently let the weights slam down.
Next time I see you in the gym I will speak to management and have them ban the use of cell phones in the gym. Don't think I'm even remotely kidding.
I hate you,
Jen
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