A young professional’s take on the trials and tribulations of everyday life in New York City.
By Nina Pajak
Remember how I quit the gym?
I think I didn’t actually quit the gym.
They got me, the slimy bastards! They took advantage of my obvious laziness and/or my extreme “lack of time,” and they tricked me. Oh, are they clever. Sure, over the phone it’s all, “Sure you can quit, just sign and send back the letter we email to you.” Easy, right? Except, I never got a letter, and now the pro-rated month that follows my official quit day is fast approaching. Without an official piece of paper acknowledging my decision to renege on my personal commitment to fitness, I fear it will be as if this whole thing never happened.
Gosh, they’re sneaky! It’s an iron-clad con. They knew that my resolve would be shaky at best, and my motivation to pick up the phone again and actually follow up would likely be impossibly low. What dastardly minds would come up with so ingenious and devious a plan? Damn you, NYSC! You’re a meaner foe than I ever had imagined.
So now what can I do? Do I choose the path of least resistance and take this as a second chance to do right? Or do I stick to my guns and go to the extra trouble of calling again, arguing my case and getting them to cut off payments on the originally agreed-upon date? To take the latter step, I have to really feel strongly about quitting, or at least about not being had. But to take the former, passive route, I actually will need to start working out again lest I wind up in the same situation I am now.
Gah, do you see what they’ve done? I’m trapped. Trapped! And with every passing day, my confidence in my decision is waning. It was never that strong to begin with—I was just riding the momentum of a wave of self-righteous impulsiveness. I fear I’m no match for the devilish masterminds at the NYSC.
Fie on you, Sports Clubs International! A pox on all your houses. Except for the one near my apartment, for in all likelihood you’ll be seeing me again soon on a relatively regular basis. There I will gather my strength, hone my physical abilities and plot my next move. You may have me this time, but I’ll escape your clutches one day, mark my words. Mark them! And save me a seat at spin class!
Dear Readers: While I am rarely at a loss for words, I’m always grateful for column ideas. Please feel free to e-mail me your suggestions.
Nina Pajak is a writer and publishing professional living with her husband on the Upper West Side.
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