This Is Why I Hate You, Gold's Gym

Trying to cancel a gym membership is about as hard as holding yourself to eating only one serving of your Mom’s homemade raspberry-pomegranate Jell-O on Thanksgiving.

For full effect, download “I Hate Everything About You” by Three Days Grace and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.

I suddenly feel the frustrations pent up in Chandler Bing’s weak appendages when he goes to cancel a membership at the local club and ends up signing a three-year deal with a bench-pressing Satan. And no, I do not care about the legal liabilities I am putting at risk by slamming one of the most meathead-infested potholes to have ever been created. I am just here to speak the truth.

Gold’s Gym is of the devil. The Devil I tell ya!!!

You can go ahead and delete the last 97½ minutes of my life that has been spent both on hold listening to a repeated cycle of inflated bimbos telling me that going to Gold’s is the best resolution out there, feathered with a grunt worker with single-digit brain cells trying to ramp up my internal motivation to lose the muffintop I’m holding hostage in my belly, and on the phone with a 35-year old stock voiceover that tried to use as many multi-syllabic filler words possible, thinking that I was just another one of the dipstick projects that flexes when flossing.

V.O.: “Well sir, just looking at the corporate documentation that we have on file and on record, I can see that there must have been some confusion as to the whereabouts of your understanding of the figurative obligation and the literal obligation that exists between the clientele and the party who is offering the mandated structured assignment.”

Me: “Lady, you just said a paragraph’s worth of bull crap assuming that I am your typical ignoramus who cares only about the size of my biceps and has a hard time spelling out the acronym, G.P.A., would you please stop with your arrogant stereotyping and get to the curse-wording point?”

Seriously Gold’s, why do you have a monopoly on fat people and rope them into life-long pursuits of unfulfilled resolutions? Why must you put every single flaming hoop, brick wall, pool of acid, shotgun-loaded booby trap possible in the way when your own clients call the customer service reps in hope of negotiating some sort of compromise? WHY IS IT SO FREAKING HARD TO JUST STOP GOING TO YOUR GYM?!

It’s almost as if you are Big Brother who is always watching, and there is no possible way I will ever be free from your imperial domination. And yes, if you just happen to be a supervisor or manager or Debbie from Human Resources reading this blogpost, I did in fact just make reference to a classic George Orwell novel that you more than likely have never heard of, simply to prove a point that you are impossible to be unchained from. You are slowly trying to take over our lives, one frumpy fellow at a time.

V.O.: “Sir, are you sure this is something you want to do? Do you realize the risks you will be putting your physical body through by stopping a regular schedule of physical exercise?”

Me: “Again, why do you think I’m some sucker who dropped out of Elementary School because I failed Show-and-Tell? Just because I don’t go to YOUR actual gym does not mean I don’t understand the concept of healthy diets, cross training, and the law of calorie balancing. And let’s be honest, is it a safe bet to make that less than 10% of people who have passes at your Mothership actually go to the gym on a consistent weekly basis?”

V.O.: “I uh…I don’t have those kind of statistics sir.”

Me: “Sure you don’t, but good job on pronouncing the word statistics correctly.”

This is a travesty. A scam. A roid-loaded monstrosity that propagandizes to the world about becoming a better person physically, but secretly is trying to suck the soul out of their bodies with five-year contracts behind their back. Gold’s Gym is a cult. It’s a brainwashing vacuum that monopolizes on low self-esteems and bellykegs just to rope people into $25 a month deals for the rest of eternity. I use to think they were nutcases, but I can now see why the trending world is becoming converted to Crossfit.  

V.O.: “I’m sorry sir, there’s really nothing I can do to cancel this. From what our documentation says, you are under contract until January 2015.”

Me: “And from what my documentation says, you are just a robot engineered with regurgitated responses that took you three years to learn how to read. I’ll call you back in 11 months.”

And so there it stands. 97½ minutes of my life gone, wasted, down the drain. And all I have to show for it is an 11-month deal with tank tops, dirty towels, and protein shakes aplenty. #firstworldmeatheadproblems for sure. I may be stuck for the moment, but just you wait. I’m taking you down Gold’s Gym, you hear me? Mark my words and remember this blogpost. Because one day, I will take you down.