May 16
Two entries! One Day! Go figure! Don't expect this to happen often...
Remember Ballshow? Well, the other day, I was at the gym, working out with Steve and there was Ballshow, sitting at the Hip Abductor, as is his norm (note: his favorite machines are those where he can be with his legs open or his ass in the air). He was chatting up the girlfriend of one of the workers-a heavily made up long haired blond, who, in case you're interested, Steve says treats her boyfriend like shit, so, in his mind, is kind of a horrible bitch. Anyhow, Ball Show was chatting up this girl, she on the Hip Adductor, he on the Abductor (I only very recently learned that they're two different things. I mean, I knew they were, I didn't know they had two different names). She is rolling her eyes at us as he talks to her. It's the first time I've ever heard his speaking voice. It is not as I expected. Judging by his looks, his coloring, I expected him to be from some foreign, swarthy country, as American men seem to have long since given up the full beard and unmoving hair helmet as their chosen style. Not Ballshow. The Legend of Ball Show is known througout the gym. Perhaps not the actual BALL SHOW legend, but he, himself is a well known freak.
If you'll recall, his gym attire is always exactly the same: skintight black short shorts, a skintight black shirt with white piping stuff on the arms and neck, and white kneesocks, pulled up to his knees. Because of this, and because of his insane behaivor, he can not be avoided, you can not help but notice him. He wanders from machine to machine, people staring after him, giggles almost not concealed (and remember, this gym is FULL of freaks to begin with, he is, by far King Freak. These are his people.) He stacks them with as much weight as he can, adding free weights to the top, does one or two half repetitions (only half, because he is not strong enough to lift what he's attempting), groaning--GROANING, mind you--not the grunt of exertion, but the groan of someone who just came on the machine--leaps up, nasty, smirky smile on his face, and slithers to another machine.
The girl he'd accosted was trapped next to him. She was in the middle of her sets. I, next to her, Steve next to me, we were all mesmerized by his obvious insanity and truly bizzare workout style. With eyes closed, and hand to face I sat and laughed. I laughed and laughed and laughed until tears, TEARS streamed down my face, and on Ballshow blathered to this chick, in between his mighty moaning sets. Finally, she breaks free. She whispers in to Steve. Steve laughs and moves to me. "She says she's come in here and found him rubbing himself, while sitting on machines..."
We leave the room and return a few minutes later. It's my turn on the abductor (honestly, the very idea that his...bits...have been on the seat makes me a little ermy) and we notice that Ballshow has left all of the extra weights all over the floor, around the machine. "God, what a pig. I'd tell him if he was here!" huffed Steve. I looked over my shoulder, and there he was, sauntering back to the main room "heh, you'll get your chance" I said. "here he comes".
People, this is what happened next:
Steve: Excuse me. EXCUSE ME.
Ballshow (I can't call him BS, for obvious reasons): Yes?
Steve: You really are supposed to put your weights away when you're done.
Ballshow: No, I really don't think I have to.
Dana: Eye closed sniggering. It's perhaps worth noting that I am standing on the machine with my legs akimbo. Very sexy.
Steve: Um, yes, really, you are. It's the polite thing to do.
Ballshow: No, I DON'T have to. It's the STAFF'S job to pick up the weights. YOU pick them up*
Steve: I'm just telling you. You ARE supposed to put the weights you use AWAY afterwards.
Ballshow: No, I DON'T. If the gym bought more than ONE SET OF WEIGHTS, like it's supposed to, it wouldn't be a problem, so I'm NOT putting anything away. It's YOUR job.Bang, he's gone. Steve and I look at one another in stunned silence. "MAN, what a fucking asshole!" He nods. "I can't believe he just said that. I wonder if he's going to complain to the club manager about me? Hold on, I'm going to go give him the heads up." He walks off, and returns smiling. "When I told Stephan about it, and started to tell him who the member was, he stopped me and said "Oh, you mean Knee Socks, right?"
My training was up, then. We shot the shit for a few minutes longer, and he assured me he'd try and find out what Ballshow's name was. Not even 10 minutes pass-I was on the crosstrainer- when he appeared (Steve, that is). He motioned for me to take off my walkman. I do. I lean down. He whispers the name in my ear.
(*snotty fucking attitude foreshadowing of future discovery by Dana...)
When I finally get home, I look him up on the Monolith's Website. It is there I make my horrifying discovery:
Ball Show, M.D., Ph.D.
Associate Research Scientist, Department of Pocket Pool.
It's DOCTOR BALLSHOW. Doctor. Ballshow. Of course, it is not astonishing. It's a fact. Research doctors can be horrible, antisocial freaks. His shitty attitude? The attitude of entitlement? Made perfect sense, then. However, the fact that he's a doctor disturbs me more than thinking that he was just some dumbshit lab flunky, cleaning testtubes and sewing ears on mice (note to my two known lab flunky readers- you are neither of you dumbshits). If he was a lab flunky, his behavior and manner of dress would be, while not excusable, a little bit more understandable. I mean, he wouldn't be making a lot of money, and so the same clothes every day at the gym, okay. Weird outfits from the early 80s? Okay. Doesn't have the money to buy new stuff. That's fine. The creepy gym stuff, well, there's nothing I can say about that. It's just creepy.
He's a freak, but now he's DOCTOR freak, and, as I sat there, mouth agape, staring at his information on the webpage (which included his phone number--an 800 number, the fuck?!) idea came to my head: what if, someday, he's, for whatever reason, in my building? In my office? What if I have to talk to him on the phone? What if we need to collaborate with him on a grant? What if I have to do something he says? The thought is literally too much for me to bear, and I lost my shit, a little.
Leading me to this morning. You all know I've had a tempestuous relationship with Ballys (the irony of the name is not lost on me in this situation) all this time, my heart never really being in it. I mean, I like Steve a great deal, but this morning, I realized that I do not think I can cope with seeing Doctor Ballshow twice a day anymore. The whole thing has kind of stepped over some invisible line in my head, where it's gone from kind of funny to "O, jesu, this guy is creeping me the fuck out." He's ruining whatever calm I get from being at the gym, you know? I am in a strange position of always feeling like I need to know where he is, when he is there. Is he behind me, staring at my jiggling ass? Is he leaking on the ab benches? It's just Too Much.
And too, I feel like I'm overreacting, but I can't shake this skeevy, nasty feeling I get inside when I see the guy, and I'm just paying way too much fucking money to be uncomfortable 5 nights a week. What would YOU do?
Uh, that's it. Fucking Doctor Ballshow. Ugh.