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Bob Marley live in concert in Zurich, Switzerl...

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    Every Friday because I have no life I go to the gym.

    My office building built a new one and it has dozens of fancy schmancy exercise equipment in it. It’s not very busy; maybe 5-6 people work out in there at a time. Actually, I like it mostly because it’s not busy and I don’t feel judged by the other gym goers. At PBA I used to hate going to the gym because there would be girls wearing make-up and matching sweats doing 1.2 on the treadmill. (I wear an old shirt from high school that says “Snow Blows” on it and cut off sweat pant capris that I made myself. Those pants are also from when I was a freshman in high school and much heavier so they don’t really fit. I have to wear underwear that matches them otherwise everyone will be able to see my undies.)If you are one of those girls, you should know that there were several times I plotted your demise. Or at the very least finding some way to control your treadmill, crank up the speed to 7.0, and send you crashing into the back wall. Not only that, but PBA boys grunt when they lift weight just like the Men Who Frequent My Gym.

    Weird.

    Anyway, last Friday I completed my run and did about 15 minutes of weights and abs. I had my “AHHHHH!!!!” playlist going on my iPod. I named my exercise mix “AHHHHH!!!!” because that’s usually how I feel when I exercise. I’m sedentary by nature. I do not like exercise. My “AHHHHH!!!!” playlist has a bunch of cheesy upbeat pop tunes, reggaeton, Daft Punk, Lady Gaga, T.I., and some Eminem. It also has “Bulletproof” by LaRoux on it, which probably destroys any street cred I may have earned by listening to rap, but such is life. “Bulletproof” is freakin’ catchy and I love a catchy song.

   As I left the gym and walked to my car, I thought, ‘You know, why don’t you play a relaxing song to cool down as you drive home.’ I scrolled through my song list and found Bob Marley’s “No Woman No Cry” live version from the Lyceum Theatre. If possible, that is the only song which the live version may actually be better than the studio. Young Robert’s voice was blasting through my speakers, I felt like raising my hands in solidarity, and the sun was setting on the horizon. To put it mildly, I was having a good after run drive. Normally, the parking garage at my office frustrates me, but I had Young Robert riding shot gun and everything was good.

   Until a woman in a Jetta pulled in front of me.

   The speed limit in the parking garage is 10 mph.

   She thought this was merely a suggestion. Something she could do if she chose.

   She did not.

   She decided to do 6mph.

   How do I know how fast she was going?

   Because butterflies were passing her.

   In the span of 30 seconds, if that, I went from Level 1- Life is Awesome! to Level 25,000- WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU DOING? IT’S A PARKING GARAGE NOT A LABYRINTHE!

   To make life even better, she couldn’t figure out how to get out of the gate. She did not understand that you have to swipe your card in front of the machine. Not behind it. Not in front of the gate itself. Not twenty feet away from the machine so that your arm doesn’t get cold. In front of the machine. There’s even a sign that says “Swipe here.” And there are two gates in the parking garage so I had to deal with this twice. It took everything in me NOT to get out of my car, jog alongside hers, and scream profanities in my West Indian hybrid accent.

   It took me 10 minutes to get out of the parking garage. “No Woman No Cry” played twice, but at that point I was so mad that it was just white noise in the background.

   Thinking about it now, Bob Marley probably never imagined that someone would be close to an apoplectic fit while listening to one of his songs.

    Also, the reason why I call my accent “West Indian hybrid” is because He-Man is Trinidadian, Chi-Chi is Jamaican, and my speech pattern is confused.

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