The Spawn...Again

I'm sure that by now I don't have to remind you who the evil Spawn of Satan is who frequents my gym late late late in the evening. And by "frequents" I mean shows up every now and then solely to make my life miserable. We have determined that she is bipolar, because when she's not making snappy comments about clocks being pasted to her forehead (which is still, in my opinion, one of the stupidest remarks I have heard come out of the mouth of an adult) and getting upset that we have altered hours around holidays, she's trying to be our bff.

I ran into her on the way to the cafeteria to get a fat fajita burrito with sour cream and cheese outside the gym the other day, and of course, she was acting all sweet and telling me how the doctor didn't mention that a broken ankle could have possible affected her already existing arthritis. Which probably existed solely due to the undue pressure put on her joints by her excessive weight and repulsive personality.

So I have a funny feeling that a) she is heavily medicated or b) she is in a much worse mood today, because I am now alone with her in the gym, and I should be so lucky that she might actually leave on time, thus allowing ME to leave on time. It just doesn't work out that way for me.

So she waddled in around 7ish and retreated to the locker room. I went back there to dump some towels in the laundry bin, remembering much too late that she was back there, and that I might be forced to seeing her naked. I was thinking horrible thoughts about Medusa, and trying desperately to remember if there was any way to return to normal after being turned into stone as I rounded the corner into the ladies' locker room, but luckily (or not, depending how you look at it) she was fully dressed, sitting on the bench, texting someone on her phone. Actually, since I find it impossible to believe that she has any friends to text, she was probably composing her shopping list. Or taking a photo of her feet, since she's still probably getting used to having toes instead of claws.

So on the one hand, I was very thankful that I didn't have to be exposed to what lies beneath her clothing. On the other hand, she's the only FREAKING PERSON IN HERE, and the only thing standing between me and GOING HOME so WHY THE F IS SHE SITTING IN THE LOCKER ROOM, TEXTING NONEXISTENT PEOPLE, WHEN SHE DOESN'T EVEN GET PHONE SERVICE IN THE GYM??

How do I know that she doesn't get service, you ask? Because 2 minutes later, she hobbles outside with her phone, then hobbles back into the locker room before emerging to begin her "workout". And by "workout" I mean ANNOYING THE CRAP OUT OF ME BY MERELY EXISTING IN THE GENERAL VICINITY OF MY FITNESS CENTER.

So now that she's sufficiently wasted much more time than she needs to, she's making her way down the circuit strength machines. At first I wasn't too concerned because her maximum endurance is, oh, about 3 minutes. But right now she's just sitting on the machines for about 2 minutes before and after each exercise, evilly squeezing every second out of me, and I know I'm going to get another rude comment when I politely try to inform her that we close at the posted time.