This Gym Just Took a Turn for the Douche.

Picture it: the gym, half past three this morning.

I was minding my own, loading up the bar for my squats, when in came a dude who can only be summarized as a douchebro. This was an easy snap judgment for me to make, and it proved remarkably accurate. Play this song as a soundtrack for the remainder of the time it takes for you to read this post.

My first clue was that Douchebro was not wearing a shirt. This inevitably means trouble. It also means that he is going to sweat on everything -- which he proceeded to do in spectacular fashion, and he did not wipe the said sweat from anything. But I am getting ahead of myself.

Douchebro, while being shirtless, was wearing some camouflage shorts, high-topped beige combat boots, and one of those gold chains that scream Miami Vice. His hair was also spiked as fuck (similar, I suspect, to his girl's drinks). He is a couple of inches taller than me, and is that colour of sorority girl/Oompa Loompa orange.

So, he came down to where all the weights are and proceeded to set his coffee and keys on the cable row (which he never used the whole time I was there). He then set up the Smith machine with a couple of forty-fives. Then he went over to the cable apparatus and set it up for chest flyes, or some such. Then he went and adjusts the leg extension machine. Then he put a couple of plates on the curling bar. Then he disappeared behind some other equipment and rummaged around for a while before finally coming back to the Smith machine. I watched this activity between sets in the big mirrored wall.

After he finished pretty much taking over the whole damn gym, he came and laid down on the bench under the Smith bar and began "bench pressing." I feel it is important to point out at this time that the bar on a Smith machine may or may not weigh forty-five pounds. It in fact probably does not. So, this guy is "benching" anywhere between one hundred and one hundred thirty-five pounds. I say "benching" because he is pushing up some weight in a track. I feel confident that I could "bench" one thirty-five on a Smith machine (I actually bench around eighty pounds; tonight did five reps at eighty-five). Anyway, this is all important information due to the following:

I was in the bottom of the fifth rep of my third set of squats when suddenly, from my left, over the melodic sounds of Bach being piped at high volume DIRECTLY INTO MY EARS, I heard this caterwauling which combined the sounds of someone giving birth with the noise a train makes when going around a sharp corner, drunken karaoke (which, it would turn out, was exactly what he was doing), William Shatner shouting "KHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!", the Wilhelm scream, that noise that Goofy makes when he skis over a cliff, and the voices of millions of men being suddenly racked. I nearly dropped my weight. I thought he had injured himself at first, but he kept doing it, and at the end of his set, he let out a lusty "FUCK YEAH!" At least, I think that's what he said. In retrospect, I probably could have gotten away with calling 911 and saying that there was a stroke victim at my gym.

It is my considered opinion that had he just shut the fuck up, he could have used the power rack next to me like a grownup.

He continued making this ungodly noise throughout his "workout," and, I dare say, got louder as I steadfastly ignored him. As time wore on, he proceeded to slam weights around (again, loud enough to hear over the Brandenburg Concertos) Throughout this performance, the cleaning lady and I were exchanging the occasional glances. I felt really badly about leaving her with him when I was finished working out.

This was my first experience with a true douchebro in the wild. I have heard tales of them on Fittit, but I thought they were not native to this region. Either they are migrating or they have become an invasive species.