Rebel yell

Every afternoon it comes. You can’t quite set your watch by it, but chances are I’ve already eaten lunch.


It echoes down the hall and sounds like it’s coming from right over my shoulder. My shoulders tense and my head tries to sink into them like a frightened turtle’s would.


I shut my door, but that doesn’t really help.


Look, I know a little noise is probably going to happen when you’re lifting weights. You grunt. You groan. You strain. But dude, you sound like you’re passing one of those mutant pumpkins you see on the local news at Halloween. You know, the ones where the picture taker has to zoom out and back up to get both the human and the pumpkin in the shot. Does everyone on the floor, and perhaps the floor above, need to know that you’re having the workout of a lifetime every day of the week? Maybe you should dial it down a little bit? Or, yanno, go with a lower weight and higher reps? Do something, because this ain’t working.

Rebel yell

One Response

  1. Sounds like the perfect instance for some of my Grandmother’s old-fashioned, passive-aggressive, catholic-guilt “help”.

    Granny: [Peeks her head in the equipment room] “Oh my goodness, sir, are you okay?”

    Meathead: “Yeah, I’m just powerblasting my quads!!!”

    Granny: “Oh dear. From down the hall I thought you were having a serious problem.”

    Meathead: “Nope, just thundering out some ultrasquats.”

    Granny: “Oh my. Well, please let me know when you’re planning on powering squat your thunders out. I have to go call 911 and tell them not to come out after all.”

    Meathead: “Ultrapowerthunderblast. :-(

    . . . or I guess you could just go say you’ve been hearing a lot of complaints, and not mention that they’re all coming from yourself.

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