Under The Gym-Gym Tree

Under The Gym-Gym Tree

By

Leo de Natale

Illustrations By Vince Giovannucci

         

Ned Elwell, a very fit 60-year-old, was driving to his second home – a local health club with the silly name: Gym-Gym.  During the past thirty years, he’d become a disciple of physical fitness at this health club chain  and religiously exercised three times per week.  His wife Katie was a member, too.

          Located at the dead end of an industrial  park,  Gym-Gym had been a facility that attracted a range of personalities and socioeconomic backgrounds.  The two-storied structure had a modern appearance – the entire front of the building contained large glass windows and faced west.  It created an airy atmosphere. By afternoon the first floor facing westward was flooded with blinding sunlight.  It was a no frills place with free weights and machines on the first floor.  The second floor contained a series of treadmills, elliptical bicycles and an open area for stretching exercises and calisthenics.  A double rack containing cushioned mats was also provided. In the corner was a cleaning station that contained several spray bottles  purportedly containing disinfectant solution and, of course, paper towels.  Most members doubted the veracity of the bottles’ contents.

          Gym-Gym was a corporation that functioned as a McDonald’s of health and fitness centers.  The company had branded itself as an affordable exercise center and sold franchises across the United States.  It had name recognition and extensively advertised its big hook:  the monthly membership fee was an incredible $15.  The local franchisee group in greater Boston owned at least a dozen locations and was headquartered in New Hampshire.   Ned’s gym was  especially active and  was often crowded during the day.  Membership included teenagers, adults and elderly folks.

Until recently little had changed since Ned joined in the early 1990’s.  The staff was usually a pleasant group of young adults and the equipment state-of-the-art.  What pleased Ned the most was its location: it was less that ten minutes from home.  That’s an important consideration when you’re exercising often. After a brisk thirty-minute speed walk on the treadmill that increased his heart rate, Ned spent much of his time upstairs to prepare him for his various weight machines located downstairs.

          “Yeah, working out became a rhythmic routine for me,” he’d say. ”I’d plan on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays but I could always adjust my schedule.  Year after year, it becomes just a part of my lifestyle.”

As with so many aspects of life, time seems to accelerate.  As he grew older Ned realized this phenomenon.  During  his long-lasting  Gym-Gym membership he saw  changes in demographics and the gym’s physical appearance.

          The clientele had changed in physical appearance – tattoos were flaunted on both sexes and all ages.  People were transfixed with their cell phones, AirPods were de rigueur, and self-absorption in the weight room was often on display.   There were many papagallos, male and female, grunting and preening in front of ten foot tall wall mirrors.  The yells sometimes resembled kidney stone attacks.

          There were other noises, moans and groans from the geezers who shuffled from one training area to another.  These were the Geritol set with many men walking with drooping lower lip, rounded shoulders and protruding bellies.  There was a lot of burping, farting and drooling on the way to physical fitness.  The older women displayed dyed hair with gray roots and unflattering form-fitting spandex.  God bless these folks for trying, Ned thought.

A sandwich board prominently displayed at the check-in area  listed the gym’s   rules and regulations.  Hygiene was urged but few members sprayed and wiped the equipment and exercise mats after use.  Talking on cell phones was frowned upon.

Gym Gym  stipulated that machines should be used in a timely fashion, i.e., spending thirty minutes using rowing machines due to excessive texting was a no-no. Most rules were largely ignored.

          Ned and his fellow long-time members noticed the negative changes in decorum and would grouse among themselves.  They also began to gripe about the slow, gradual changes in the gym’s physical appearance.  The employees seemed to be in turn-style mode.  So-called managers had an average six-month shelf life.  The remaining staff  whose primary duty was to greet members and ensure they’d checked in properly were minimum wagers.   They did little else and stayed behind the front desk working their cell phones and kibitzing among themselves.  Work ethic seemed to be disappearing.  How can these kids just sit around a hovel and do nothing Ned asked himself. The fetid atmosphere at Gym-Gym was approaching critical mass.

          Many gym members were  part of the problem.  While exercising at the lat pull down machine, Ned had adopted the habit of spraying and cleaning the various machines – seats and handles- with the disinfecting fluid before and after his workout.  Between sets he noticed men and women using the equipment with nary a moistened paper towel in view.  These people were double-skeeving using dirty weight machines and leaving them dirtier. Few seemed to care.

He figured  older members might have a traditional attitude towards hygiene but there he was, a tall, lanky 70-something geezer who had an uncanny resemblance to Woodrow Wilson, including the pince-nez rimless eyeglasses.  He’d wander from machine to machine dumbfoundingly looking for William Howard Taft.

  What a difference six years make, Ned thought.  During the Covid pandemic, everyone was masked, used the gym’s numerous hand sanitizer dispensers and actually cleaned the machines.  The fear of plague had a predictable effect.

          But that was then and this is now.  People have a short memory and fear transformed into meh!,  it’s over and we can revert to being slobs. Ned discussed the deteriorating situation with his cronies.  All had noticed this change and weren’t happy.

          “This place is becoming a shithole,” a man named Barney said. “I don’t know what’s going on but it sucks!”

          There were other red flags pertaining to gym equipment. Invariably up to ten machines were broken, vinyl upholstery seats split and needed repair.  At one point two of the three water fountains were inoperable. The franchise owners and staff didn’t seemed to care.  “Temporarily Out Of Order” signs were common.  Members were passive about these obvious problems.  By winter the rock salt-stained gym floors were a disgrace and dust bunnies were like real rabbits- breeding out of control.  Paper towels were strewn on the men’s locker room floor.  Katie told Ned the women’s locker room was equally offensive.  Something was amiss at Gym Gym.

“I get grossed out in there, Ned,” she said. “There are piles of hair in the sinks and on the floor.  Really skeeve.”

        Ned felt  members were reaching a breaking point.  As he was leaving one day he approached the gym’s new manager Kevin- he’d been on the job less than three months. 

“Hey, Kevin, what’s going on in the gym?” Ned asked. “It’s  getting pretty raunchy.  You know, dirty and broken equipment.”

          “Yeah, I’m sorry, man. But, like, ownership discontinued the nightly cleaning service three months ago,” he said in Gen Z argot. “Like I can give you an email address to complain.”

          “Wait a minute, you mean no one is cleaning the gym daily?” he asked incredulously. “Isn’t there a district manager  I can call?” Ned asked.

          “Nah, sorry, man, like they don’t give that info out,” Kevin said. “This is the best way to contact them,” as he jotted the address on a yellow post-it.

Gym-Gym was becoming  Bizarro World.  The corporation was  Churchill’s Russia: a riddle, wrapped in mystery inside an enigma.  The mysterious aspect of this labyrinthine company was a communications impasse.  Ned began Googling Gym Gym and discovered there were no corporate telephone numbers or email addresses.  No corporate officers were listed.

          Well, Ned said to himself, I’m going to give them one more chance.  Using the email address provided by the manager, he wrote a critical letter stating the club members’ complaints and concerns. He mentioned the filthy locker rooms, smelly toilets, unwashed floors and absence of equipment repair.  Ned demanded a response.  He pushed “Send” and catapulted the letter into cyberspace.

A week transpired.  Crickets.

“That’s it, I’ve had it!” Ned said to Katie. “I’m calling the city board of health.  It’s time to jerk Gym Gym’s chain.”

The following day, Ned telephoned city hall and was transferred to the health department.  He explained the nature of his complaint and provided details to employee John Kelly.

“The overarching problem, Mr. Kelly, is I’m dealing with a ‘health club’ that has created a very, very unhealthy environment.  This is post-pandemic and the owners, whoever they may be, are completely ignoring the basic tenets of cleanliness and sanitation.”

“Well, I’ll tell you, Mr. Elwell, I’ll go over to the gym and give a look,” Kelly said. “I’ll get back to you.”

Ned waited nearly two weeks for a response. Annoyed, he called city hall.

“Oh yeah, sorry I didn’t call,” Kelly said unapologetically. “But, see, we found out the Board of Health has no jurisdiction over gyms and health clubs.  Inspections aren’t required like restaurants and other businesses.  I looked into it and actually you have file a complaint with the state’s Public Health Department.”

“You’re telling me that the city either can’t or won’t do anything, Mr. Kelly,” Ned fumed.

“Our hands are tied,” Kelly replied.

This is bullshit, Ned said to himself.  Clearly there is no resolution to this problem.

The following day, Ned  the Pit Bull contacted the state DPH.  Per usual, there was a menu – no humans answering the phones.  He left a message.  Two days later, however,  his call was returned and the Gym Gym issue was becoming a political football.

“Mr. Elwell, I received your call,” this is Sally form the DPH an employee said. “All I can say is this is not a state issue.  Your board of health people are the ones who have to conduct an inspection and enforce codes.  I don’t know who you talked to but they were wrong.  Sorry.”

Unbelievable, Ned thought.  Typical.  A bunch of bureaucrats  pass the buck and nothing happens.

Katie Elwell observed how much of an emotional impact was having on Ned.  Her husband was passionate and tenacious over issues that didn’t square with him.  She felt it was a quixotic endeavor.

“Ned, I think it’s time for you to let go of this Gym-Gym thing” she said over dinner.  “You don’t seem to be getting anywhere, honey, and I don’t like how it’s consuming you.  Don’t forget there are many, many health clubs in our area.”

“Well I’ve been thinking about it, Katie, and there’s one last thing I can do,” he responded. “Can’t talk to this bogus company, the city and state don’t want involvement.   Time to contact the mass media.  I’m calling the Boston Post tomorrow.  This is a newsworthy story.  I’m sure the press can sink their teeth into this.”

True to his word, he called the Post, considered the most influential and widely read newspaper in New England.  He presumed contacting a newspaper would be straightforward. Just telephone the editor’s office or the paper’s city desk and he’d directed to a reporter who would at least listen to his story.

Unfortunately, his experience was perhaps even more frustrating.  Contacting the newspaper’s journalists was as difficult as  Gym-Gym.

There was no live response.  Like everything else today, the paper’s phone system was a menu: “To contact advertising press one, circulation press two, for editorial and newsroom press three.”  Ned dutifully pressed three.  After ten minutes of elevator music, a recorded voice stated “No one can answer the phone now.  Please leave your name, telephone number and a brief message.  Someone will contact you.”

Ned waited three days. “Someone” never called.  As a last resort, he Googled the Post’s website.  There was a “tipline” email address where the public could report a potential story like a slippery company who was endangering its clientele with an unsanitary facility.   No one contacted Ned.

Frustrated by the newspaper’s nonresponse, Ned decided he’d try a local television station that had a consumer reporter on staff.  The same thing occurred.  No direct phone system. He left a message and emailed the station.  Nothing.  Ned was in a Kafka novel where nothing he said was heard, no one he called responded,  no one returned communication.  Gym Gym had become a netherworld with no escape.

The tipping point for Ned came several days later.  As he entered the gym’s toilet area, his foot caught on a rubber threshold leading to the locker room.  He inspected the threshold and discovered it was disintegrating.  One false step and someone would tripping and careening towards the urinals.  Ned returned to the front desk and informed a female employee of the condition.

“I’m all by myself and I can’t go in there,” she explained.

“Well, fine, give me a piece of paper and a Sharpie pen and I’ll leave a note warning members.”

Fifteen minutes later Ned taped a makeshift notice stating, “Caution: Loose threshold. Pls watch your step.”

Unsurprisingly,  four weeks passed and the hazardous condition remained unfixed.

Enraged, Ned drove home.

“Katie, I’m done,” he yelled to his wife. ”Those bozos haven’t done a damned thing about the threshold.  I’m terminating our membership.  We’ll find a gym that’s clean and cares about its members.”

Ned notified Gym Gym by email.  He was leaving the gym and canceling his membership.  He also put a stop on his credit card to prevent them from continuing to charge the account (he had learned Gym Gym had a sleazy way of blocking membership cancelation).

Two weeks later Ned and Katie drove to their new gym, Elm Brook Health and Workout Center that was located about 25 minutes away.  Membership fees were predictably higher at $85 per person.  It was worth it.  Elm Brook was pristine, smelled clean and had more features – a swimming pool, racketball and pickleball courts.  They were happy with their decision.  Ned continued to hear from his Gym Gym friends who remained there.  Nothing had changed.

He reflected on how much agita he and Katie had endured.  Gym Gym finally was in the rear view mirror.  A sense of relief enveloped him.  He had tried to effect change but failed but there were no regrets.

Three months later………….

Massive SARS Epidemic

At Local Gym Gym Facility

Associated Press (AP) Boston, MA

Massachusetts Department of Public Health (DPW) officials have shut down a Gym Gym franchise until further notice following a large scale infectious outbreak at the Boston facility.

DPW Director Nicholas Fiumara told a press gathering at least two hundred gym members had contracted  highly contagious MRSA infections, many of whom have been hospitalized.  Fiumara said an inspection of the facility revealed extreme unsanitary conditions in every area of the facility.  DPH staff have been conducting test throughout the two story building.    The epidemic conditions were discovered last week.  DPH investigators were deployed wearing HAZMAT suits.

“This emergency situation didn’t happen overnight,” Fiumara said. “Locker rooms and gym equipment have been contaminated for some time.  We are contacting the owners of this franchise for further explanation.”

Gym Gym’s problems seem to be escalating.  The franchise  faced a multimillion lawsuit by a gym member who tripped over a torn rubber threshold and fractured his skull, hip and pelvis.  The 70-year-old man remains in an induced coma.  According to reports, rhe threshold reportedly had been damaged for weeks and wasn’t repaired.

Gym Gym representatives could not be reached for comment.  The gym has been quarantined until further notice.