Wednesday, July 06, 2011

The peacock/ Il Pavone
Today while I was dutifully performing my Tracy Anderson workout, I had the thought that the gym owner I spoke to last week who said she would call me never called me.  I turned down the volume of my hip hoppy happy tunes from GLEE and looked up her number. Sure enough she had no intention of ever calling me.  She made a lot of excuses about the teachers' schedules being complicated and blah, blah, blah. I said okay and hung up.  But I have no shame where my shame should be so I called her back and I said I am going to come give you a private class today; what time should I be there? And she said to  be there at six.

Then my friend Massimo called and I asked him to walk with me over to the Testosterone gym (not its real name) where my friend the police woman works out so that I could hand in my resume. The owner of that gym is a real peacock (see above) who is super fake-tanned and tattooed and older than he looks, although he is fully aware of this fact.  He told me to come back that afternoon at 5.

When I came back he made me wait and wait while he helped one needy muscle head after another with setting their machines.  I told him I had an audition at the Estrogen gym (not its real name) but that my friend said that If I was going to work anywhere it should be for him. When I mentioned the name of my gorgeous Farah Fawcett look alike friend he stopped everything. Oh I know her, he said. Yeah, I bet you do, I thought. I told him that it was her idea that the gym needed an injection of estrogen and that my class was designed for women.  Now you know I was making all of this up on the spot. Then I went so far as to say that we have a mothers' group and that all the women want to follow me to his gym. What am I crazy? What mothers' group? I am lucky if people don't walk right by me in the parking lot. He said I was in luck. It just so happens that they have an opening in the schedule.  He said I should bring all the women I know to come participate in a sample class one evening next week and that it will take place in the sala.  The sala is a wood floor in the middle of the open floor plan where the men throw weights around and grunt a lot and maybe look for truffles, for all I know.  Whatever. I agreed.

F was waiting outside for me and he called to give me the signal that I was about to be late to the other audition.  We speed walked over to the next gym which was dead closed with a metal gate. The sign on the door said that they were supposed to open at 6, but she didn't arrive until ten minutes after, during which time I aged about five years. After the owner let me in and we put my music on I asked her to do the arm routine with me so she could feel how effective it was. Two minutes later she got a phone call.  And this routine doesn't feel like anything if you stop in the middle. So then I decided to do my entire routine plus a wild hip hop number while she was on the phone and looking at me out of the corner of her eye in the mirror.  Afterwards I walked her through the rest of the arm routine. She said she was interested in hiring me to teach this new method and maybe to teach an English speaking dance class for kids. I told her that the Testosterone gym wanted me, but I preferred her gym.  She said, yes, who would want to put themselves on display in the sala where all the muscley body builders watch you and make eyes at you? And I secretly thought to myself: ME ME ME that's who.  But I'm from Brooklyn and we go for that kind of thing.

Then I went straight to the pharmacy where my pharmacist said she would bring two girlfriends, if I could teach the class monday night after work. Then I texted the police woman and told her that I was a pathological liar. She was cool with it, though. On the way from the pharmacy to the house, the sweet chef downstairs told me that one of his clients owns a very fancy gym about a half an hour away and he is also very interested in meeting me!  Wish me luck because T needs a new pair of shoes.

Arrivederci, you Brooklyn exhibitionists you!

1 comment:

Allie said...

HA HA! You shameless self promoter!