Story 634: Work Is a Distraction for a Workout

             (At a gym, Client enters in a hurry and still dressed in business casual)

Trainer: (Trots over from lounging against the front desk) Hi there!  Thanks so much for coming back.

Client: (Rushed) Yeah, listen, I only came in because I wanted to tell you in-person instead of leaving a phone message: sorry to gym-break-up with you like this, but it’s not you, it’s me.

Trainer: I know.

Client: No, I mean – what, you do?

Trainer: Totally: we never take anything personally in this line of work.  Success or failure is entirely up to you.  (Points to Client in emphasis)

Client: Oh.  OK, then you know that I’m leaving the gym because I just can’t get through the workouts and I’ve hit the wall and peaked long ago and will never get any better than I was at the beginning, right?

Trainer: Yes.

Client: Oh.  Guess we agree on my complete and utter inadequacy, then.  (Turns to leave, stifling a sob)

Trainer: Not so fast!  (Gently turns Client back around and steers the latter through the main training area, past others working with all sorts of equipment) Usually I’d let a client with your views go on your merry little way and focus on the ones here who are actually serious about their commitment to health BUT – (As Client opens mouth to object) I know that you’re a special case.

Client: (Borderline sarcastic) Oh, really?

Trainer: Of course!  And in the spirit of Memorial Day Weekend AND Military Appreciation Month, I’m not going to give up when I know you still have the potential to be all that you can be!

Client: I don’t know – (Briefly holds up a not-very-toned arm) I doubt I could serve our country with this.

Trainer: Not with that attitude!  At any rate: I observe all my clients closely, and you, my friend – (Points at Client again in emphasis) have a head problem.

Client: As in…?

Trainer: You’re stuck in it.  Most people here like having something else to focus on that isn’t work, or family, or their work family, or their lack of real friends, or what-have-you, so having to do a hundred reps of bicep curls or flipping ginormous tires or lunging until their legs turn to jelly tends to block out all that other stuff for a blissful hour or two.  You – (Pokes Client on the shoulder)

Client: Ow.

Trainer: – sorry – have the opposite situation going on.  You’re too focused on the bicep curling and the tire flipping and the leg lunging that you can’t relax.

Client: (Looks around the gym at everyone else lifting, running, squatting, lunging, pulling, and pushing) “Relax”?!

Trainer: Let me put it another way: you’re too focused on how not well you’re doing in the workouts that all you can see is the failure and not the progress.  So, I took the liberty of calling in an… assistant trainer, if you will.

(They stop at an exercise bench where someone else has been waiting)

Assistant: (Waves at Client) Hi!  Nice to see you!

Client: (Blinks at Assistant, then turns to Trainer) Are you telling me that you hired the VP’s administrative assistant from where I work to be a trainer here?!

Trainer: I sure did!  Am.

Client: (To Assistant) So you work here now, too?

Assistant: Sort of: they hired me as a per diem contractor.

Client: For what?

Assistant: To motivate you during workouts!

Client: What?!

Trainer: I know, isn’t it brilliant?  I wonder why no one’s thought of it before?

Client: No, I don’t think either one of you is getting it: I’m listening to all the “Keep going!”s and the “You got this!”s and the “Just 50 more!”s and the “You’re getting stronger with every rep!”s, but at this point they’re only underlining how not well I’m doing, at all.

Trainer: So – (Gestures to Assistant) we hired the Admin here to provide a different kind of motivation: work.

Client: Huh?

Assistant: I’m supposed to keep you distracted with all the projects and deadlines you have waiting for you back at the office, so that way you won’t even notice you’ve gotten through the session until it’s over!

Trainer: Brilliant, I say!

Client: That – I – I don’t know….

Trainer: C’mon, what do you have to lose by trying?

Client: Another month’s membership fee.

Trainer: Not to worry on that end; since this was my idea, you’re not being charged for this session if it doesn’t work.

Client: What, it’ll come out of your paycheck or something?

Trainer: Pretty much, yeah.

Client: Well, now I’ll feel guilty if I still don’t want to come back after today –

Assistant: Do it or I’ll tell the VP you’re an indecisive slacker right before your annual performance review!

(Client runs to the changing room)

Trainer: Oh, you’re good.

Assistant: Thank you – years of experience.

(At the exercise bench, Client is now in gym clothes and lying down, ready to lift)

Trainer: So, where did we leave off last time?

Client: (Embarrassed) Between 70 and 80 pounds.

Trainer: Good – we’re going for 100 now.  (Adds weights onto the bar and lifts it into Client’s hands)

Client: (Straining to hold up the weight as Trainer spots) Um, I don’t know, I’m probably going to drop the bar on myself –

Assistant: (Leans down next to Client’s head) Speaking of bars, did you finish those graphs for this week’s budget meeting yet?

Client: (Slowly lowers the bar, then lifts it back up) Uh, not yet – (Slowly lowers the bar, then lifts it back up) still waiting for more data – (Slowly lowers the bar, then lifts it back up)

Assistant: (Taking notes on a large pad and nodding) Um-hm: how many departments still haven’t gotten back to you?

Client: (Expels a big breath while lifting) Uhhhhhh, I don’t know exactly – (Lowers and lifts) I think a few – (Lowers and lifts) are flat-out ignoring me now – (Lowers and lifts) I’ll have to start calling them – (Lowers and lifts) or showing up at their desks – (Lowers and lifts) it’s really annoying (Lowers and lifts with a grunt)

Trainer: That’s enough.  (Takes the bar and puts it back on the rack) You just beat your personal record there, congrats!   (Wipes down the equipment)

Client: (Slowly sits up while rubbing sore hands) Huh.  I suppose I did.

Trainer: Let’s try the treadmill next, yeah?

Client: (Stands) Maybe leg lifts next instead?

Trainer: Nope!  I want some cardio in there now that you’re all warmed up!

Client: (As all three walk to a treadmill) But my stamina stinks.

Trainer: We’ll see about that!  Up you go!

(Client steps onto the treadmill; Trainer sets it to a 10% incline and 5 mph speed)

Client: That fast?!  And high?!

Trainer: Time to be bold!  (Starts the machine)

Client: (Starts running and is immediately almost of out of breath) I dunno – maybe a little slower –

Assistant: (Slides in front of Trainer, still writing notes) Take me through the presentation you have so far.

Client: Oh – uh – well – our fiscal year’s – pretty good – so far – under budget – in most areas – we’ll need to cut back – on expenses – in – (To Trainer who is watching a timer) Can I – take a – quick break?

Assistant: Cut back on what expenses?  You just said we’re under budget.

Client: Yeah – in some areas – but not others – those are over –

Assistant: Give me a list of what needs to be cut, then.

Client: Well – (Goes on for 10 minutes)

Trainer: (Stops the timer) Aaaaaand, time!  (Stops the treadmill) Well done, you!  I don’t think you’ve ever gone that long before.

Client: (Collapses sweating and gasping over the machine) I – haven’t?

Trainer: Nope!  And it was literally uphill all the way!

Client: (Starts to slump) Ohhhhh….

Trainer: Right: medicine ball time!

(Trainer drags Client to an open area on the floor as Assistant follows; the two then do sit-ups while throwing a medicine ball to each other)

Assistant: (Crouched next to Client and still taking notes while following with each sit-up) Have you called the vendors yet and told them that our invoicing process is changing?

Client: Not yet – (Sits up and throws) Corporate still hasn’t made it “official” so I can’t – (Catches the ball and lies back down) it’ll probably be next week though – (Sits up and throws) I have a mass e-mail ready to send – (Catches the ball and lies back down, and stays down) I don’t think I can get up again.

Assistant: (Glances over at Trainer who mouths “Twenty more”, then addresses Client again) Well, that really should be done this week, since invoices for the month will go out on Tuesday after the holiday.

Client: (Suddenly sits up and throws) Yeah, and no one actually pays on the day they get the invoice – (Catches the ball and lies back down) so they’ll still get the notice before they have to pay – (Sits up and throws) and it’ll be fresher in their minds if I send it next week.  (Catches and lies back down)

Assistant: (As the other two continue faster and faster) But, it’s best practice, not to mention common courtesy, to send the notice before they receive the invoices, because you just know they’re going to get confused if you send it after, and you just know that someone will pay that same day the one time you don’t want them to, and then we’ll all be up the creek when it was a completely avoidable situation –

Client: (Sitting up, lying down, throwing, and catching even faster) All right – all right – I’ll ask – first thing – tomorrow and – get approval – to send it out – by that afternoon – or Friday – the latest – OK?!

Trainer: (Catches a fastball and raises an arm in triumph) Done!

Client: (Collapses back down on the mat) I certainly am.

Trainer: (Stands with Assistant for them both to look down at Client) Well, I think this experiment went exceptionally well, don’t you agree?

Client: (Breathlessly) Oh yeah – I’m certainly not – stressing about – the workouts – anymore –

Trainer: Perfect!  See you at our usual time on Thursday then, yeah?  (Walks away, tossing the medicine ball into the air and whistling in glee)

Assistant: (Down at Client) See you in the office tomorrow, yeah?  (Walks away, taking notes in glee)

Client: (Still on the floor) Great – now I’ll always – be thinking – about work –

Story 229: The [Disease] Carrier

            “Aw, man!” the Administrative Assistant whined.

            “What?” his neighboring Admin. asked.

            In a low voice he said, “They want me to work at those Corporate events next week and I thought I had timed my vacation to miss them but I requested off the wrong week!  And now I’m stuck because I can only use the funeral excuse for one day and I need five!  And having to work these things is always so draining; my life is ruined, absolutely ruined!”  He dramatically banged his head on his folded hands resting on the desk, and sighed.

            Looking around her first, the neighboring Admin. leaned in and spoke in a low voice: “Not necessarily.”

            Without looking up: “Hm?”

            “I know someone who can help you, if you’re willing to put up with mild-to-major discomfort and the slight possibility of death.”

            His head popped up: “I’m willing.”

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

In a dirty, seldom-travelled hallway of the building, the Admin. checked the information on the card he had been given and finally located the door labelled “Boiler Room.”  He knocked and waited a full minute before a disheveled employee answered the door.

“It’s open; you could’ve just come in,” Disheveled said.

“Sorry,” the Admin. replied.  “I didn’t know the protocol; you know, I’ve worked here for eight years and never been down here until now, heh-heh-heh.”

“[Grunt]”

“So!  I was referred here by a colleague to meet with ‘The Carrier,’” he overdid the air quotes, “who I was told could ‘assist’ with a certain ‘problem’ that I ‘have’ – ”

“All right, all right, get in.”  Disheveled opened the door wider and led the Admin. to a chair in front of a desk in an expectedly filthy office.  The former rummaged through a drawer, gave the latter a clipboard and pen, said “Fill it out,” and left.

The Admin., all alone with the creepy-crawlies in the shadows, felt that he would soon be murdered; knowing that the improbability of that triumphs over the possibility, he proceeded to answer the health questions on the 10 double-sided pages attached to the clipboard.  When he finished, he had no idea how to convey that to the person who seemed in charge of this joint.  He was about to make a run for it when Disheveled re-entered the room, grabbed the clipboard out of the Admin.’s hands, and exited, slamming the door behind him.

One of those old-fashioned waiting periods commenced for the Admin., in that he had nothing to do but wait since he had accidentally left his phone on his desk, which he realized also would have come in handy if he needed rescuing, but oh well.  He spent the next who-knows-how-long (since he also never wore watches anymore) counting the floor and ceiling tiles several times over and anticipating each time the furnace would roar to life when he heard someone approach the door.  He braced himself to face Disheveled’s Evil Twin, or, perhaps, Disheveled’s Monstrous Parent.

The door opened and a pleasant, well-dressed woman entered, carrying the clipboard.

“Hello!”  She shook the Admin.’s hand and sat in the chair across from him.  “Sorry for making you come all the way down here and wait – not the most sanitary of conditions, if you know what I mean, but can’t be helped.”  She flipped through the pages he had completed.

He stared at her.  “You’re The Carrier.”

She looked up at him and smiled.  “Oh, that – my title’s actually Supervisor, but my clients tacked that other one on me over the years.  Whatcha gonna do?”  She chuckled, then read from one of the pages: “So, according to this, you’re pretty healthy.”

“Unfortunately, yes.  No one’s going to believe I’m sick for five days without any warning unless it’s something really good.  I was thinking the flu – everyone’s got that this year, right?”

She shook her head.  “No, that’s too much of a wildcard – people die from it, you know, and some of them were pretty healthy themselves.”

“I’ve had it before; I can handle it.”

“Mm-hm, and which strain was it?”

“…There’s more than one?”

She shook her head again.  “Nope, won’t do it; it’ll have to be something else.”

“But I deliberately didn’t get the flu shot this year so I could get some sick days!”

“And that was a stupid reason not to get the shot, but it’s not too late; you should get vaccinated ASAP.  Let’s see,” she flipped through a few pages while he slumped in his seat, “you wrote here that you had chicken pox when you were a kid: I can reactivate that to give you a nice case of the shingles that’ll lay you up for at least a week, if you want.”

“Wait a minute, I thought I can’t get the shingles because I had the chicken pox!”

“Ha!  The virus never left – you might get shingles, you might not, there’s no way to tell.  You’re just a ticking time bomb waiting for the right circumstances to break out in agony.”

He turned green.  “Maybe not that one, then.”

“Leave be as you say.”  She turned to another page.  “What about pertussis?”
            “Percussion?”
            “Whopping cough.  This says you missed the vaccination when you were a baby.”

“Hmm…”  He thought on this, then shook his head.  “Nah, I don’t want to spend the whole time coughing my lungs out, that’ll be exhausting.  Isn’t there one you have that’ll just let me, I dunno, sleep the whole time?  Yeah, how about sleeping sickness?”

“You don’t want that one.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve got it.”  She set the clipboard definitively onto the desk.  “Gastroenteritis with a side-helping of appendicitis.  You’ll be puking for a few days, but if I time it right you’ll be out for at least a week with a nice hospital admission for corroboration.”

“But I don’t want a hospital admission!”  He stood to emphasize his point.  “I just want to call out sick so I don’t have to cover a work event!  Now you’re going to have them cut me open and take my appendix?!  What if I need it?!”

“You’re the one who came here for my help.”  She remained in the chair and folded her arms.

“Yeah, but not to have my organs stolen!  Plus it'll leave a scar!  And I don’t want to be puking!”

“Then the best I can offer is common cold that peaks for four days max.”

He heaved a mighty breath, sat back down in the chair, and grumbled: “I guess if that’s the best you can do….”

She held out new forms and the pen: “Sign these so you can’t sue me later.”  He did so; she then held out another piece of paper and a credit card scanner.  “Now swipe your card here.”

“It’s that much?!”

“This is a very specialized service I offer; it takes a lot of effort to properly titrate all the strains of disease I carry.”

“All right, mumble-mumble.”  He slowly opened his wallet and swiped his card.

In the meantime, she put on a pair of gloves, rolled up his left sleeve, swabbed his inner elbow with a cotton pad, selected a syringe from the multiple rows that lined the inside of her coat, and injected him with it.  “There.  You should be good and sick by 7:30 tonight at the latest.”

“Thanks.”  He rolled down his sleeve and stood to leave as she cleaned up her mini-lab.  “You know, with all that stuff going on in your blood, you probably have the cure for cancer floating around in there and don’t even know it.”

“I doubt it – with all that stuff going on in my blood, I’m surprised I’ve lasted this long.  Might as well make some money off of it.”