Freak Weights

Freak Weights
One of the few perks behind paying tuition to a major university, aside from the whole "education" thing, is having access to a gym. Unfortunately, with the fortunes of an Ivy league institution come the follies...namely in the form of people. Sure, there are the stereotypical East Coast Trust Fund babies, your Chads, Prestons, Ruperts, Spencers, Sebastians, Archibalds and Abercrombies, but those are just run of the mill douchebags. With every one preppy a-hole on the Columbia campus, there are five socially inept space cases to go with them, not counting myself. And I'm not even including the professors.

In the gym, where you would think there would be a filter against the outside world....there isn't. Evidently, on the east coast, there isn't a thing called shame in the vernacular. Case in point with elderly, to put it lightly, men walking around in jock straps in plain sight of the general population. The, presumably, biochem and/or engineering and/or physics undergrad majors, on the weight machines equipped with buttoned-down shirts tucked into their khaki pants, fashionably matched to their loafers. This variety of people is par for the course, and I have generally grown accustomed to them over the past year.

That is until I encountered a completely new species of gym opossums (they do not qualify as gym rats in their present state).

During my 30-second rest between sets, which inevitably somehow becomes a 3-minute Gatorade break, an Asian lad, no older than 18, no taller than 62 inches, hair parted in the middle, bearing glasses, black Corduroy pants, black loafers and a black jacket, decides to stand not 2 feet in front of me. Head slightly bowed. With his eyes closed. Facing me. As I look around giving a, "Is anyone else witnessing this?" look to people, to no avail, I assume he's taking part in some sort of meditation. Under normal circumstances, if someone is waiting for a machine, either the user or the waiter would ask if they wanted to "work in" or switch off. But I was worried any interaction with Dalai Crazy would lead to me being added to some list.

With 3 sets left, I was beginning to think I was part of some social experiment. Was this person judging my performance? Probably not. More likely he was a lunatic. Gradually, more people began to notice my mini-standoff and what began as a look of peaceful, yet maniacal, zen...

...slowly turned into pure maniacal.


Not to racially stereotype. Or anything.

My sets were finally over, about 5 minutes later. Mao Zedemented hadn't moved an inch. I got up to get a towel to wipe off the machine, as is customary and courteous, and by the time I returned, he was already seated. Jacket, Corduroys and all.

While many people are speculating that people are becoming more and more rude, which I wouldn't disagree with, I would say that people are becoming more and more crazy. Or perhaps they were always around, but they just started hitting the gyms. Either way, it's a good omen for my field of profession.