By 7:30 p.m. I was exhausted, but relieved that Anne would be my last client of the day. About 15 minutes into our session Anne gave an exasperated sigh of disgust as she spied Drafty in her usual attire: sheer black nylon stockings with a pair of floral print underwear showing through and her regular tired floppy bra that barely held her pancake-saggy breats.
"At least she's wearing underwear," I said.
(Note to newcomers of this journal: This description is from an old post that details "special needs members" from the gym I work at: "Special Needs Member #2- "I come right from the office and have the most convenient system ever! I wear a skirt with pantyhose each day so when I arrive at the gym, all I need to do is remove my skirt, remove my shirt, and change my shoes! I feel completely confident walking on the treadmill in my pantyhose with no underwear underneathe and my regular bra in which with each and every step my pancake-style saggy breasts flop in separate directions. This is because I'm wearing a regular bra without even an underwire. And I sometimes work out very late at night and you get to wait for me to leave, even after you've given me the subtle hint of turning off the lights." '
At one point in our workout Anne had to get on a hip adductor machine. It was a part of our trio of leg exercises. We'd just seen Drafty get on the machine next to it, so we figured she wouldn't be getting on that machine right away.
As soon as Anne sat down, Drafty said, "I'm using that machine."
"No," Anne said. "You're still finishing that one. You can work in with us."
Then Drafty looked at me, "You ought to know better, since you're a trainer here." Basically the rule is that if you aren't starting the entire machine weight circuit from end to end, you need to ask the person on the machine before you if they minded you using the next one. I typically abide by this rule, but we'd just seen Drafty get on. So clearly she was saying this to be a jerk.
Before I could say a word, Anne looked at Drafty incredulously, "Ew, why aren't you wearing any pants?"
"I'm wearing nylons," the woman replied.
"That's not proper workout attire," Anne objected.
"I don't see how that's any of your business," Drafty shot back.
Before things could get ugly, I said, "Come on Anne."
"What's your name?" Drafty pointed at me.
Lovely, I thought. "Liz," I replied.
Drafty marched downstairs. "Great," I said to Anne. "Now I'm in trouble."
"No, you're not," Anne said. "I'll take care of it."
Within a few minutes Drafty returned with the Manager in tow. She began speaking earnestly and gesturing wildly. Anne and I decided to go over there.
"Excuse me," Anne said as we approached. "This woman was being extremely rude. Liz had nothing to do with it."
After a few exchanges between Anne and the woman, we landed back on the nylon topic again. "And I got upset because I was horrified by your attire," Anne said. "You got out of the machine, exposing your crotch. I didn't want to see that."
Drafty bristled, "My clothing is none of your concern."
"You're not wearing any," Anne said pointedly.
Drafty looked away from Anne to the Manager and said, "That's okay. I'm a good friend of the General Manager's. I will take this up with her on Monday."
"So, you're saying that because you're friends with the GM that you have the right to treat people however you want?" Anne asked.
Drafty just shook her head and the Manager looked at me. "I want to speak with you."
Then she looked at Drafty. "I'm sorry you had to deal with this. Our employees are not usually like this."
Whaaaaaaaaat?? I didn't do anything!
Finally we all dispersed and the Manager and I went into the Fitness Director's office. "Liz, what happened?"
I explained and the Manager said, "You should have done a better job of intervening."
"Well," I said, "I'm not here to make sure people play nicely in the sandbox. These two women are grown adults. They should be able to handle themselves." Not to mention that I was f*cking exhausted and was also trying my hardest not to laugh hysterically during the entire exchange.
"It's your job to protect the integrety of the club," The Manager replied.
"Well, if that were the case, then we should tell that woman to put some pants on."
The Manager smiled wryly. "Well, it's not a big deal. I'm sure that woman will call Beth on Monday though. She's certainly that type."
I shrugged. I was tired, I just wanted to go home.
Anne caught up with me on my way out. "Don't worry, Liz. I already left a voice mail with Beth and will follow up on Monday. You didn't do anything. I'm also going to talk to that Manager again before I leave." Then she leaned in closer and her voice took a deeper, sinister tone. "And I guarentee you, that crazy woman will be wearing pants by June."
Grinning, I told her to have a good weekend and I would see her Sunday evening for our session. Then I drove home, wanting nothing to do but crawl in bed beside Sarah.
Yesterday I came in to train a series of clients during the afternoon. As I worked with one, I suddenly felt like I was being watched. Looking up I noticed Drafty was there again, using the same machines as the previous night. But with one difference:
She was wearing shorts over the nylons.