Chick

Did I tell you about weird guy? No, I'm sure I didn't. Hold on; needs a little set up. I’ve started going to the gym in the morning – 5am-ish. I’m just too tired to go at night. I find it much easier getting up at 4:45 am. I like it mostly because there is no one else there at that hour; I have the little place to myself.

Enter weird guy. Weird guy lives down hall. (I've decided to call him Chick) When I first moved in, I thought Chick was hearing impaired because when I walk by his door, the television was very very loud. Of course, it might be situated right by his door too. You never know.

So Monday, Chick comes in 20 minutes into my workout, as I watch Happy Days, grabs the remote from me and sets the sleep alarm to 45 minutes. OK. So maybe he’s a little socially inept. That’s cool.

I just as soon not communicate a whole lot in the gym. But Chick’s a talker. He begins his small talk by informing me that the shower water in the gym isn't hot enough. (Being as visual as I am, this conjured up an image I didn't want conjured up.) Chick lodged a complaint with the management, but they refused to accede to his request. Further complaints brought no relief and he knew what was going on; they were trying to save money to pour it into the landscaping. He wanted to protest by not paying his home owners association fees, but, “They get you by putting a lien on your property, so you can’t do that!”

Penny pinching condo people are the bain of his existence. I made some noises about them needing to take better care of us blah blah blah.

This wasn't enough for him; he had an axe to grind. Chick continues to tell me how he had, on more than one occasion mind you, vigorously exercised his first amendment rights by complaining about the thermostat not working in the gym. Complained and complained, to no avail. Chick explained to that the woman who runs the facility kept telling him it wasn't broken. So you know what he did? He pulled himself up to his full 5’4”, pointed at it and said “I BROKE IT!”

I didn't ask how; I was a little afraid it was through blunt force trauma or that he used some form of bladed instrument.

Whooops, my time was up! Bye Chick! I got back to my apartment, opened up my prayer booklet and the words that started my day were "Judge not, lest ye be judged." This reminded me that I'm a hateful human being.

But last night, as I picked up my mail, I noticed that Chick has a strip of clear packing tape down by the corner of his door. My dramatic mind developed a scenario painting Chick paranoid with newspapers piled up in his apartment and a copy of "Catcher in the Rye" at his bedside. If anyone attempted to break into his apartment whilst he was out, he would be able to immediately tell because of the severed tape. Test #2, and less obvious to the casual observer, would be one of his own freshly plucked hairs spanning the topmost portion of his doorway. This too would be decimated when the enemy attempted to slip in and gain the secret knowledge to which only Chick had access.

Today 5am, as I pass his apartment to go to the gym, his door opens. Decked in his workout garb, I can tell that he's on his way too. Oh, crap. A little voice told me it was so he could see what my schedule was. I tried to soothe that voice. I could take him on if I had to.

Meanwhile, at the gym, I get on the treadmill, and like the day before, he grabs the remote, sets the sleep timer for 45 minutes. A man of habit, is our Chick. Asks me if there is something I wanted to watch, handed me back the remote. I found Leave it to Beaver - a mild, non-threatening, I thought an almost soothing sitcom. Chick begins lamenting that sitcoms are crap; “Did you ever watch Seinfeld? Seinfeld was the worst show ever!” I tempted fate and tried to disagree, "Oh? See, I liked Seinfeld.” My discourse was brushed aside. Chick then he gets on his machine and is focused for ten minutes.

Once off, he begins his lifting regimen. He attempts to impress by telling me that he got one treadmill up to 25 mph and that he can bench press 250 lbs.

This elicited an uninterested "Ahhh" from me; I didn't want to encourage him at all. One could never be sure that there WASN'T a lovingly dug bunker in his condo hewn out of cement to store and have relations with his gym partners, keeping them there as his brides. I continued to focus on Jerry Mathers.

Lots of grunting coming from my little companion as he lifted whatever he lifts. While he took a breather, he thought to impress me with his knowledge of "Leave it to Beaver" trivia. Had this been a Lifetime television movie, Michael Meyers Friday the 13th music would have been playing in the background, slowly swelling, I think.

In still another attempt at polite gym conversation, he shared with me that legendary porn star Johnny Holmes originally played Eddy Haskell on "Leave it to Beaver".

Whoops my time was up; BYE CHICK.