Periodically the annoying klaxons would stop and some calm woman's voice would come on saying, "You're going to die, try not to be too messy about it. If you should choose life please exit the building immediately and rubberneck from a safe distance with the others." Then the klaxons and blinking would resume with their infernal cacophony. I'm actually thinking I would prefer Kingsley's musical choices at this time of morning over this din. I mentally shrug and head out the door where I see IronMan climbing out of that tank of his he calls a 'car.'
IronMan asks about the fire alarm and points out that Bubbles' car is over in it's customary place. Laughing in the face of certain death we head back into the gym to make sure that Bubbles is OK. IronMan bee-lines for the woman's locker room, probably after a latte or a strawberry smoothie. I remind him that he's looking for Bubbles as he heads in. He waves me off, pulling a lobster bib from his gym bag and tying it on. Those chicks live high on the hog over there in the woman's locker room.
We wander around a bit but Bubbles is not to be found. Either her water broke or her car wouldn't start. She's not due until early March so the smart moneys on car problems. Suddenly we're face to face with an irate security guard. This one looks like a kid instead of the old guy variety. He's glaring at us so I figure it's best to get off on the right foot with him.
"IronMan did it, I tried to stop him."
The poor dear looks totally sleep deprived. He mutters, or shouts but I can barely hear him over the klaxons, "There isn't a fire, they're just testing the system making sure everything's working."
"How long will it last?"
He manages to look even glummer, "Forever. Someone has to come by and make sure every light is blinking, every klaxon... klaxoning and that you can hear that awful woman's voice. There's a klaxon right over my desk..." He trails off while rummaging through drawers.
"What are you looking for?"
"A post-it, I want to put a message up on the door telling people this is only a test."
His despair is infectious so I halfheartedly pretend to look for one before telling him, "We're going to be here for awhile. We can tell folk that it's just a test."
He almost perks up at this news muttering thanks over the shrill of the klaxons before staring blankly at nothing.
I have no time, inclination nor medicinals (except the ever present Aleve) to help out my glum chum with his introduction to sleep deprivation. He's on his own, welcome to the night shift baby. I leave him to get dressed for my workout.
While getting dressed the fire alarm test stops. But what's it mean? This is a serious omen, another warning that I'm not right with God! I just don't understand why these harbingers of doom can't be a tad clearer with their warnings. What's with the cryptic? Can't some voice like that calm fire-alarm chick's come over God's PA and spell it out? Something down the lines of, "Please put down the Double Stuff or I shall smite thee! If you choose to eat the Double Stuff please don't make a mess when I explode your head." At least I'd know what the issue is! Since my list of crimes is longer than your average maniac's I HATE guessing! Sheesh!
I hop on a bike and begin hammering out fifty-five minutes for the heck of it. I haven't seen Bubbles in awhile and feel like a teenager playing hooky. Diablo is strolling down the hallway with that patented smirk of his and solves the Bubbles car in the parking lot mystery:
It's a BOY!!!
Bubbles delivered a baby boy, 9 lbs. 8 oz. and 20 in. That's all I know about that but I assume mom and kid are fine.
Welcome to the night shift Bubbles and sciFi.
Diablo begins yakking about how this was sooner than planned (yeah, heads up on that, kids will mess with the whole planning thing. It's what they do best) so Bubbles temporary replacement isn't in place yet so there will be some juggling with the classes.
This is of course irrelevant. There are two critical questions that must be answered about this replacement and I'm just the guy to ask them!
"Is she a drill sergeant type?" I want to experience one of those, particularly if it's only three or so months. I can handle that length of time... maybe. A mental image of hope begins to form in my mind of the trainer screaming at me...
Get With The Program!
Might be fun. It might suck too but it would be different and temporary. Sadly Diablo informs me that she wont be a 'drill sergeant type.' I'll probably have to figure out a different way of experiencing that, it doesn't appear to be part of the gym's culture.
My mental image reforms into a kind of girly-girl opposite meekly pleading with me, "Please do another push-up. Please."
Mildly stoned on endorphins, I further blacken my soul and ask, "Well, is she hot?"
Well I can't un-ask the question and we're not in court (yet) where I can bellow out, "Strike that!" to the court stenographer. I decide to back off this line of questioning since I suddenly have a hostile witness on my hands.
We'll just have to see what this temporary trainer brings to the table. I'll have to name her too, maybe. She'll probably avoid me, not that I blame her. Me not being right with God and all.
Day two of lent went better than I hoped. My wife managed to keep me out of the house until it was bedtime for Bill. I also accomplished all the tasks I set out to do yesterday so there are interesting side effects to this whole avoiding Oreos thing that I'll have to investigate further. Here check out my new lucky bamboo holder thingy! First the old leaky one.
Old 'Leaky'
Now the new one with a cup my daughter painted for me eight years ago when she was ::counts on fingers:: THREE!... yeah three.
New Improved Bamboo Vase
I think the black stones add a nice contrast, don't you? They also serve as a metaphor for the sins against God and man I've probably committed just today alone.
Sigh
Tonight my wife will be leaving me home unsupervised again. Why must I be tested so?
Have a wonderful weekend!
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