Gainfully employed

funny short story: gainfully employed

Trent’s rubber band body twisted back-and-forth in opposite rhythm of his two upright elbows, shoving the air out of his very determined way. He whizzed by the receptionist’s desk with a sprint that looked like the workout-lovechild of Tae Bo Billy Blanks, and a power-walking mother racing toward the coveted “MILF” finish line.

“Dude, you got to check in!” the receptionist yelled, standing from her desk. But it would have been a waste of the receptionist’s time anyway. Trent didn’t plan on becoming a member.

Actually, Trent was just making good on a “Free Workout Consultation” coupon, because he certainly didn’t think he was out of shape. At least, he wasn’t one to shy away from taking his shirt off, but, “Hey, you can’t lose when it’s free right baby girl?” A phrase that earned him a slap from an Applebee’s waitress last night, but a phrase he stood by when offered something for free.

Finding an office labeled “Personal Trainer,” he knocked on the door.

“Excuse me!” Trent exclaimed.

After a few moments of excited knocking, the door opened.

“Can I help you?” said a little voice.

Just as Trent began enter, a round belly bobbled through the door. The trainer’s form looked like a stress ball, a mass strangled at the legs and chest, while ready to burst at the torso. Trent read in horror the warped black letters of the trainer’s yellow shirt, “I want to pump you UP.”

“Ummm…I’m not sure you can help me,” Trent said, suddenly realizing why the training was free.

“I don’t understand?” said Hans, the trainer.

“You literally have one job. And that’s to be in shape.” Trent paused, staring at the dark amber sweat stain growing from underneath Hans’ arms. “Well, look at you.”

Trent slowly shook his head.

“What do you do for a living, sir?” Hans asked kindly.

“I’ll have you know, I’m in the g** d*** Air Force. What do you got to say about them apples, bud?” spoke Trent proudly.

“Well, then. Just because you’re in the Air Force, doesn’t mean I expect you to be an expert in sitting around in an office and doing nothing all day, does it?” said Hans.

Air-Force, Chair-Force. It was a tired insult, but Hans looked tired. Taking a deep breath, Hans readied himself for a diatribe.

"Oh Lord, here we go…fat boy about to have a heart attack," Trent thought to himself.

“In fact, I know I’m much better at that. I’m the mother f******* Muphasa of sitting around and doing nothing. But guess what. That’s not a job, now is it?” Hans said. “IS IT?”

“Um, no?” said Trent, confused at where this tirade was going.

“So, unless you’d rather come in to my office, play some Xbox, drink some Mountain Dew, and enjoy some of these brownies that my mom made me this morning. Then I suggest you leave me be….BUD,” said Hans.

A few moments later, Trent had signed on for a two-year commitment with the gym.

This story was written by David Gregory, creator of this website. Comment with your thoughts below!
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