Weed and Whites at the Gym 

I decided to start working out for like four days when I lived in Malaysia. It’s because I have turned into this kind of mushy “skinny-fat” girl. I mean, I don’t look fat, but I basically have no muscles left. It’s gross, I know, stop judging me.

There was this “gym” in my apartment complex.

It was maybe the size of a small bedroom and consisted of two treadmills, some kind of contraption that looks too dangerous to use, and a small tower of what my ex-boyfriend called “girl-weights”.

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The pool area of my apartment complex

Every now and again I get the urge to exercise. Normally, after inspecting myself in the mirror, donning a bikini, or realizing that my butt doesn’t look half as good as it used to in my lucky leather pants.

When I get these urges to work out, I either go to the gym and do a half-ass workout because I get bored and there isn’t much to do in there, (let’s be honest there is only so far you can run on a treadmill before you feel like a hamster) or I eat something.

This happened when I had one of the urges to exercise and actually went down to the gym.

It was 9pm and dark. Half of the gym is glass so you can see if someone is in there. This time, it was totally dark. I opened the door and step into a cloud of smoke.

I was completely taken aback to find my 70+-year-old Malaysian security guard puffing away on a joint, and slowly putting away weights.

I didn’t really know what to say or do, so I just smiled and said hi, and turned on the light. He puttered around a bit messing with things and then sat down on a bench and watched me run for a while, finished his joint ,and walked out.

He was such a delightful and good-natured old man, and now I know why.

It was so smokey in there.

My elderly security guard had hot-boxed me while I was trying to exercise.

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This is evidence proving I exercised once…. jk I just wore this outfit to get food.

I was having the weirdest, deepest, most intricate thoughts while running along. I’m not going to lie, I considered taking up a weed habit. I felt like I could run for the rest of my life and be entertained.

While I was lost in my own thoughts and the hip-hop from my iPod, someone else had come into the gym.

Out of nowhere (probably not out of nowhere, though, let’s be honest my high brain likely just didn’t register that he had arrived) this guy is like, “HI!”.

Super loud.

I nearly fell off the treadmill.

I gave a quick smile and wave, then turned forward and kept running along.

He kept talking and I pretended not to notice because, actually, who the eff wants to chit-chat stoned, running, and sweaty? No one.

This guy then knocks on my treadmill with surprising force and stands right in front of me waving to get my attention.

I thought there was some kind of emergency taking place so I quickly took out my earphones and said “Yes?!” looking around for danger.

Nothing, actually. He just wanted to talk. He asked all the boring questions like where am I from, what do I do, etc, etc, etc.  Then this happened:

Guy: “I’m an amazing singer from Africa. I do a lot of shows and I am pretty great (sings a couple of notes). So where do you live?”

Me: “Here”

Guy: “But which apartment”

Me: “Uhhhh, why?”

Guy: “Because I would like to do some things with you, I am not like, you know, that kind of guy. I like to associate with whites sometimes.”

Me: (laughing)

Guy: “So where do you live?”

Me: (still laughing) “I’m not telling you that.”

Guy: “Do you live alone? Or with your friends?”

Me: “My boyfriend.” (I lied)

Guy: “Is he a white too?”

Me: (laughing) “Yes, from Canada.”

Guy: “Well, I was going to ask you to go on a date to one of my performances, but you have a boyfriend. So, I would like to invite you both to have a barbecue with me this weekend. You will be the only whites.”


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