Yes, those were my exact words to my yoga instructor when we realized that the tardy douche who teaches the class before us on Monday nights was going to end his class on time. I thought she was going to pee herself or something, she was laughing so hard. It wasn't that funny.
But seriously, this dickbag has been running five to seven minutes late -- and into our class time -- since the schedule changed in September. It doesn't seem like that much time. However, if you factor that in and the time it takes them to put their shit away and the time it takes us to set up ... I routinely get home after 9:00. Tonight, though, I was home by 9:00 and I'd stopped at Trader Joe's on the way.
Oh, but that's not all. I went into the locker room after class and THERE WAS A WOMAN CLEANING. Shit. I was happy I was able to use the bathroom before class without wanting to vomit. To see someone cleaning; I nearly wept. It's been months since there were cleaning people working while the gym was open. Spring is in the air, I guess. Even Bally is freshening up for the season of birth and renewal.
Now, if only my damn back would straighten up and fly right. The day after my birthday, I somehow managed to move oddly while shaving my legs and tweaked my herniated disc. That triggered several days worth of back spasms and I thought by the end of last week I was all better. Not only was I able to do everything in yoga, I was back to doing cardio and lifting weights. Then I sat awkwardly on folding chairs for a large chunk of Saturday watching my nephew's last basketball games of the year and I'm nearly back at square one. Dammit all to hell.