My 11:30 class at CFNE is insane. It’s mostly a room full of stud dudes that are in there on their lunch break, and my little smoke show midget crew who all happen to be drop-dead gorgeous…and, all 5 foot tall and under.
I sort of feel bad for the guys, in particular, though. I play all of the music that these poor men were finally able to escape from with their wives and tween daughters: Prince Royce, Ke$ha, Fifth Harmony, Nick Jonas, Ariana Grande, Britney Spears, Selena Gomez, did I say Fifth Harmony yet?, Iggy Azalea, Beyoncè…and, lots of country music…which is cool and all, but not the P.O.D. that they were hoping for when they activated their membership.
At 11:15, the dancing starts. And, everyone’s immediately uncomfortable with what’s happening. Including myself…and, I’m the only one that’s getting after it. You see, my “job” allows me to pretend that I’m living out my dream job of being a professional dancer (which is code for stripper…just without all the stripping…or, teasing…so, I guess it’s really just code for Fly Girl or concert sort of dancer for someone on stage like Fifth Harmony who I, coincidentally, happen to play a lot in my class). Now that I think of it, I may or may not have used the poles on the pull-up rig as “equipment”.
That’s what they walk into. 15 minutes before class even starts.
Then, I start welcoming the visitors and first timers.
“HI! I’M HEATHER! I coach the 11:30 class! Where are you from?”
“Hello. I’m Anna from Spain.”
“OH, well, then. CIAO!”
And, an instant look of total confusion smothers Anna’s face. She just got hit so hard she doesn’t even try to cover up her reaction.
I’m thinking to myself about how I took Italian in college and I’m pretty sure that “ciao” means hello and goodbye in Italian, but I could be wrong about that. I may have just said goodbye to the visitor I just met.
That brings us to the start of class.
“Welcome to your 11:30 exercise session!”
Now, the warm-up. Take yesterday, for example. There’s a 2k row programmed, so all of the rowers are already out on the floor. There’s not even a question in my mind about how to start the class: THE FISH GAME.
I get everyone started and proceed to spend the next 4 minutes yelling out everyone’s scores who are doing awful.
“Naomi is totally tanking it! Still has LESS than 50 points!”
“Nancy still hasn’t figured out which fish is hers!”
“Andy…a HUGE disappointment with only 100 points!”
4 minutes of that nonsense.
I remember that the visitor should feel welcome, so I announce to everyone that Anna is visiting from Spain.
“Let’s everyone say CIAO to our visitor!”
Again, total confusion.
“So, where is Spain, by the way? Is that an island around Puerto Rico or is it down under Mexico somewhere?”
Because, in my brain Spain is a Spanish-speaking country…(SHOOT…they don’t speak Italian in a Spanish-speaking country. You idiot!!!)…so, it must be down with all of the other Spanish-speaking countries in South America.
Now, I’m also starting to wonder if islands like Puerto Rico and Cuba are considered South America when they’re down there floating around in the ocean all by themselves. I’m thinking South America is a continent, so you’ve gotta’ be part of the big land to be part of the continent. Are islands part of a continent?
OH MY GOD. These people don’t care about this. They want to work out.
I’m going to stop there because this post is so ridiculous. Why do I do this? I work so hard to try and cover up the fact that I am a complete space shot and have the intelligence of a 4 year old…and, then I go documenting it all here so it’s fact.
But, I will say this: I bet my guy crew has more fun during their lunch hour than their co-workers are at Panera.