“Why would I wait until later? Thank you, Carter, for doing all that you can to make Bubba and me a happy couple. Although, technically speaking, I think you need to actually have a job in order to pay federal taxes. The local sales tax doesn’t make it quite as far. I know. Semantics.”
Time for another set. And, since I can’t afford what the phone manufacturers charge for ear buds, I try to tune out with thoughts of the game.
I notice Jim backing away from the situation, his movements in the mirror pulling me from my thoughts. McNasty isn’t letting anything go. He’s got a look on his face like he wants to go outside and fight over whatever it is he’s angry about. I manage not to smile, but only barely.
“Why don’t you just sit around and get fat like the rest of the losers in this worthless city?” McNasty asks.
“Pass,” I say, grunting out the words as I struggle to finish the set. My arms are about done. I’m gonna have to find a new station.
Both Jim and the blond are looking uncomfortable with the way the contest is progressing. Jim backs up another step and when the lady notices him do it in the mirror, she does the same. I doubt they’ve ever seen Carter fight, but he looks mad enough to do it. I’m not looking for a fight. I do my best to diffuse it.
“Look man, I’m just trying to work out.”
I get up and pull a pair of hundred pound dumbbells from the rack. There’s no way I can curl these, I use them for deadlifts, but maybe the sight of it will get McNasty to back off.
No such luck.
“How can you even afford a gym membership? Even to this rat’s nest?”
I decide that the only good course of action is to ignore him without making him think I’m baiting him by pretending he isn’t there. I do the classic shoulder shrug.
“Oh, I know,” McNasty says. “I talked with your buddy Brian the other day. He says you’re doing some pro-gamer stuff. Living in a cartoon world.”
I lower the weights down to the mat, sending dust bunnies flying. I stand for my first deadlift. I gotta be careful not to ruin my back by letting my form go out the window.
“Why even bother coming here to work out? You know deep down you’re just a fatty who likes to sit around and play video games all day. How much do you make per week, like a hundred bucks?”
I shrug again and decide to go fifteen reps. More to have something to do than anything else. But this encounter has spoiled my gym time. I’m heading home as soon as Carter and his entourage leave. I’m actually kind of glad about having a legit excuse to leave early. It was all I could do not to log back into King’s League first thing this morning.
Leveling up last night meant I had five points to distribute to my character when I got home. There was no rush. The points would sit forever if I decided to let them. Figuring out where to put the points in my stats was always the difficult part. Every time a character leveled, new quests and areas would open for them to explore. There, the mobs would be a little tougher and the loot would be a little better. In real world terms, it means I’ll have a better chance to pay Mister Mendoza.
I dip low for another rep when McNasty takes the opportunity to step in front of me, forcing me to look at him or avert my eyes when I come back up. I decide I’ve had enough and stare at him as he stands there, letting the weights drop with a heavy thud that sends more dust flying and probably kills a colony of microbes living their best life on the old man’s dirty gym floor. The look on Carter’s face makes me want to punch him right now. It’s a very punchable face. One of those things that you just know when you see it. Like Wil Wheaton.
I have to remind myself that although acquiring a battery charge wouldn’t necessarily guarantee I’d never return to college, it won’t help. I have bigger goals than bouncing the spoiled rich kid off the walls, ceiling, and floor of the gym. I have my whole life to look forward to, and with any luck, it won’t involve Carter McMorgan.
Also, let’s not kid ourselves. I’m not exactly Mike Tyson. For all I know Carter knows kung fu or something. But, I’ve watched a lot of Power Rangers and pro wrestling. I think I can end it early with a V-Trigger ala Kenny Omega if it comes down to it. And if that didn’t work, a couple of the regulars with muscles to spare are watching. I’m pretty sure they’d have my back.
Probably.
“What’s your problem?” McNasty asks as he leans forward, bringing his face inches from mine.
I swipe some sweat off the tip of my nose, which causes Carter to take a couple of quick steps away from me. He raises his hands for a moment like he’s expecting me to hit him. “You mean in general or just right now?”
I use the extra space Carter’s flinching afforded me to grab my towel and start wiping up the sweat on the floor. The white (well, cream) towel turns black in seconds. Yech.
By the time I finish, McNasty is right back up close. A guy who wants a fight, just doesn’t want to start it.
“Carter,” the blond girl says. “This is boring. Can we go?”
“Yeah, Carter,” Jimmy adds, his tone measured. “Your dad only wanted you to check the place out, see if the building could be a good fit for another Shake Shack.”
That would suck. If this gym were replaced with a delicious Shake Shack, I’d lose all my gains in like, two days, tops. I can see it now, me reverting back to my original form, a chocolate shake IV in each arm, a burger in either hand.
Now I’m hungry.
And Carter, for his part, seems relieved that he has an outside excuse to end this Soviet-era game of brinkmanship. With a lazy smile, I bend at the waist a little so I can look him directly in the eye. It’s condescending, I know, but I’m running out of patience. Also, and I can’t stress this enough, I want to be condescending because this guy sucks.
“I’m leaving now,” I say as matter-of-factly as I can manage. “You’re going to take two steps to your left or right. Either way is fine with me, but I’m leaving. I have things to do and none of them involve you. So, please stand aside.”
I can see him waver for a second, unsure of whether or not he’s bitten off more than he can chew. He doesn’t say anything, so I wait.
“Carter,” the blond practically moans in boredom. “This is lame.”
“Fine,” he practically spits out. “Let’s go. And you, pro gamer dork. You wouldn’t last ten seconds in a fight with me. Get out of my face.”
He then promptly leaves, which technically means he’s getting out of my face. But pointing that out would probably get us back to square one. And I really want to put together a plan on how to best spend those ability points. So, while on the subject of faces, I let him save some for the hot blond, may she realize the error of her choices before it’s too late.
I wait for them to leave and only move for the front counter when I hear Carter’s ride peal out of the parking lot.
I towel off most of the sweat, having vowed long ago never to step foot in the gym’s locker room again. You can watch the athlete’s foot and plantar warts grown on you in real time. Unclean! Unclean!
As I approach the front desk to leave, Bob is holding an old corded phone in his hand, the receiver down low like he’s hiding it.
“I was ready to call the cops the moment that punk tried something,” Bob says with a nod.