Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Dick Cheney and the yoga class

Traveling for work, I found myself at a fancy hotel in Philadelphia, PA.  Upon check-in, I learned that the highest floors of the building were condo units for rich people.  Like you, Dear Reader, I find the sloth and excess of the upper classes abhorrent.  Just imagine:  These pricks have so much dough that they live in a five-star hotel year round, complete with room service, daily housekeeping, and complimentary shoeshines.  What a bunch of assholes!

But then I learned that the hotel guests - even those of us with discounted, Pricehag rates - had access to the condo's luxurious gym and spa facilities.  Score!  My husband and I headed over in our garish, middle-class sweatpants.

While my husband exerted himself on the treadmill, I snooped around for free stuff.  The ladies room was a veritable mother lode of unguarded tampons, cotton balls, and ear swabs.  I was in heaven!  Then hubby and I reconnoitered for a yoga class.  We entered the nicest gym studio I have ever seen -- bamboo floors, gleaming mirrors, recessed lighting, and that new-yoga-mat smell.  I immediately felt calmer and more enlightened.

The yoga lesson was fantastic.  The instructor was clearly at the top of her game.  She had a soothing voice and a complete collection of Enya's albums.  As I stretched and sweated, I stole glances at the other students.  Lean, blissed-out women wearing organic cotton leggings and all-natural lip gloss.  A man with a graying ponytail and a t-shirt that proclaimed "I'm a tree-hugger!"  "Wow," I thought, "Look at these people - they're so peaceful and at-one with the universe.  I should really do this more often."

The door to the studio creaked open, and a gym employee entered and tiptoed to our instructor.  The employee whispered something and then left.  The instructor cleared her throat.  We all looked up.  "Well," she began, "it appears that we need to end class early today.  Dick Cheney will be at the hotel for a private event this evening, and security needs to clear the area for him.  I'm terribly sorry, but we need to wrap up now."

Her announcement was met with stunned silence.  Then my classmates' expressions twisted into angry scowls.  "Fuck that guy!" exploded Ponytail Dude.  "I hate him!  How dare he interrupt our class!"  "He's a war criminal!" hissed a blond woman in earth tones.  "He shouldn't even be welcome here!"  The other students nodded vigorously in agreement.  "I don't like him either," murmured the instructor, "but unfortunately we still need to leave." 

The mood of the class was totally ruined.  People angrily gathered their belongings and stormed out.  My husband and I watched them go.  We looked at each other, then at the instructor.  She smiled sheepishly.  "I'm so sorry," she repeated.  "It's okay," said my husband.  "I split my shorts during Downward Facing Dog, anyway."  "Let's go, honey," I told him.  "This place is really harshing my mellow."

No comments: