Page 4 of Hello Darling
“I think I can handle it.” I pull a wrapped sandwich out from my jacket pocket and hand it to him.
“Thanks.”
“Take your time eating it.”
“Don’t tell me how to eat a sandwich.”
I muss up his already mussed-up hair. “I can’t believe you never showed up last night.”
“I got to see two women make out at Andy’s. Five feet away from me. In person. I was in the right place at the right time, believe me.”
“I’m so happy for you. Go talk to Mr. Hannam, he’s looking at you like he wants to ask a question.”
“Lookin’ good, Mr. Hannam! What’s up?” Billy struts over to the cable crossover machine, where our newest sixty-seven year-old member is looking a little confused about how to work the thing. Billy is the only person I know who can get a person stoked about using what looks like an old school torture device. What Mr. Hannam doesn’t know is, he’s saving me from the real old school torture device: being grilled by my brother about kissing boys.
I immediately get back to work, responding to emails, wiping down surfaces, working on our annual holiday season “Get Fit-Stay Fit” challenge. We have a letter board set up on the front desk, with a phrase that changes daily, but I was barely conscious this morning when I assembled the letters to form:Have a nice day. Get me a coffee.
Not one person got me a coffee. I switch it to:Dear body: maybe don’t eat ALL the candy at once. Love, your pants
I take a picture of it and post it on the gym’s Instagram page.
I text my dad to ask if he came down with a cold. I could hear it in his voice yesterday, and I don’t want him going for his usual morning hikes this time of year unless he’s in top form. He immediately texts back:NO. STRONG LIKE BULL.
I know this means he’s getting sick, and I know that I will be bringing him soup later, but I don’t push it because we are both stubborn like bulls and it’s no fun getting into a text argument with him because he just ignores my texts.
The business line rings. “Good afternoon, Starkey Fitness.”
“Yes, hello,” says a pert young female with an English accent. “I’m calling to ask if it’s possible to pay cash in advance for your three month membership?”
“Oh. Sure, I don’t see why not. Payment in full, in cash, would be fine.”
“Wonderful, thank you so much, and one more quick question.”
“Yes?”
“Do you photocopy your new members’ identification cards when they sign up? For your records?”
“No. That isn’t usually necessary.”
“Fantastic, thank you!”
She hangs up. It’s not the weirdest question I’ve ever gotten about memberships. Someone once called to ask if he could pay for his annual membership with a year’s worth of fresh caught salmon. My dad said ‘yes.’ We served it at our annual member appreciation dinner. When Mrs. Flauvich said the only way she’d join the gym was if she could eat on the treadmill, we said ‘no’ but that she could pay for her membership with hugs. Her blood pressure has been lowered thanks to the exercise, and ours has been lowered thanks to her bountiful warm hugs. Win-win. That’s how we do business, and we still manage to make a tidy profit, and that’s why I love it here.
I don’t even check the Caller ID when I answer the next call.
“Hey hey,” says the voice on the line.
“Jason?”
“So you made it to work?”
“Why are you calling me on the gym phone?”
“I’m a member.”
“Are you calling regarding your membership?”
“No, I’m calling regarding getting a drink with you later.”
