Two weeks ago I decided to quit the body-building gym I’d been attending. I had no way of anticipating the problems that would come with this decision. First, I had unknowingly signed up for a year contract. I have a bad habit of simply signing things and worrying about it later. When I got the letter in the mail informing me that I would still be required to pay the $30 per month, I was aghast. That’s a lot of money to go nowhere and do nothing. It’s even more to continue going to a gym where the instructors apply grease before coming to work and the members openly grunt. I had to think of a plan. 

So I called in to explain that I have a sick family member I’m taking care of and I just can’t find the time to continue with the gym. I pulled out all the stops: low sad voice, heavy sighs, far-off attitude—I even threw in a compliment sandwich: “I love your gym, it’s just a bit expensive for me right now. I hope I can come back.”

It worked.

I got out of my contract, but now whenever I walk by this gym—which is often because I live around the corner—I have to pretend to be sad because I’m paranoid the owners will see me and know I lied. Looking sad consists of a slow shuffle while I look at the ground. I was explaining this to my friend Sarah today when she asked what the hell I meant by “my sad walk around the corner.” She encouraged me to write about it, then laughed at me when I explained that I couldn’t because they might read my blog.