Rob Abrazado (flatvurm) wrote,
Rob Abrazado

Market opportunities

So, it finally happened. My "Couch to 5K" workout today totally kicked my ass. I mean, it always kicks my ass, but today it actually defeated me, as I had to shave a minute off my last two intervals in order to, as it felt at the time, not die. I'm sure that, rationally, that's a complete exaggeration, but you know...I'm one to listen to my body, and my body seemed to be telling me to stop running around like an idiot. So I did.

The Boardwalk has, for the convenience of its beachgoing populace, little community showerheads posted every so often, basically so that after a dip in the ocean and/or a walk on the beach you can wash the salt water and sand off your body before rejoining civilization. Although they're probably not intended quite for this purpose as well, I also sometime stick my head under one after running to cool down a little. I did that today, and so between my own copious sweating and the fact that I had stuck my head under a shower, I was completely drenched and dripping on my walk home from the Boardwalk. I was also catching my breath, so my lungs were going like a blacksmith's bellows (my walk home generally serves as my cooldown walk, so when I leave the boardwalk, it's pretty much literally right after I've stopped running). Also I should point out that when I go out running, I don't bring my glasses with me, so I generally can't see anything with any amount of detail that's further than about five inches away from my face.

So picture the scene: I'm staggering down the sidewalk, squinting so I don't fall down a hole or step into traffic, in my sneakers, shorts, and drenched t-shirt, body dripping wet, and completely out of breath. I stop at a curb to wait for the traffic light to change so I can cross the street, and my attention is pretty much completely focused inward where I'm counting down the minutes until I can get in the shower, and I'm wondering how that compares to the other countdown I'm facing that indicates when my brain will actually boil inside my skull like a poached egg.

So imagine my surprise when I'm roused from this reverie by a hooker strolling up to me and saying, "Hey, big boy. Whatcha doin'? Besides sweating your ass off, I mean."

I mean, really? This is how you drum up business? I mean, for fuck's sake, it's like eleven in the morning! On a Monday! It's clear that you can see that I'm about to die of heatstroke. This is the time? Am I the mutant here, and is it just me who, after my morning jog in the oppressive summer heat, strangely does not feel like throwing down a few bills for a quick boink? I wondered as I staggered the rest of the way back home, was this a new approach for her? Or has it worked in the past, that flabby guys out exercising seem to be receptive to this kind of approach? I mean...even if I was, somehow, in the mood, I could barely lift my own head at the moment. The whole prospect just seemed completely absurd to me. But, so it goes. Everybody's gotta make a living, right?

Also, just as a postscript, from what I could tell from the blurry blob-like image addressing me (no glasses, remember), she seemed more attractive than the usual ladies I encounter working that particular area. I wondered what might be driving that change in demographic. Is it a buyer's market now? Must be the economy.
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