Rachel and I have learned so much from each other. I learned to recognize my disdain for close relationships as a self protecting mechanism. Rachel jokes that I come home from work, unable to speak, because I've run out of words. I small talk for a living, inbetween sets with clients, which is why I circuit train them, to leave them with little breath to converse with. But they are nefarious creatures who outsmart me with superior cardiovascular skills.
But ultimately I credit my success as a trainer to the intimate relationships I've built with clients after watching the care and nurturing Rachel puts into her friendships and her patients.
It's not all one sided though. She's learned what I like to refer to as--Wrap It Up. Wrap It Up is an art form; a specific phrase or tone invoked at the right time that portrays, without rudeness, that any given conversation is seconds away from ending. It most likely begins with, "All Righty, well..." or is subtly brought on by an acute sense of purpose. It's important to get across that although the conversation is in fact important, there are more pressing things to do. Seeming annoyed is the best way to get this across. Not annoyance at the obstacle in front of you, keeping you from being elsewhere, but a general pissiness that shows hesitation is detrimental to future tasks.
There are times I have to swoop in on her conversations and institute an emergency Wrap It Up--- "Hun, we gotta go." Other times a simple glance from her tells me to shed my secret identity as mild mannered indifference boy and don the cape and cowl of GTFO, (Get The F$ck Outta Here), my alter ego; faster than a speeding conversation.
Lately she's been wielding her own brand of Wrap It Up, but still relies on the master. She'll inform me before going somewhere that I am to use my powers at will, which leads me to wonder why we didn't institute the "No Thanks, We Already Have Plans," scenario. Take last New Year's Eve. With my super interpretive powers I read between the lines of an email she received from an acquaintance inviting us to a New Year's Party. The email mentioned something about a pot luck dinner but added "bring your instruments for the ceremony afterwards." My instincts kicked in and I immediately called for the afore mentioned "previous plans" scenario but Rachel stayed open minded--Kryptonite to GTFO Man.
The party went off as planned. Everyone brought a meatless dish, clue one that we were headed for disaster. The conversation was stimulating, lulling us into a false sense of comfort. Before the promise of dessert, everyone was invited into the living room for the 'Ceremony.' The room was set up so that everyone could take a seat on the floor. I chose a seat. Accoutrements peppered the floor, including tambourines, maracas, drums, candles, and a huge pile of tobacco in front of the evening's master of ceremonies who I dubbed, Chief Arch Nemesis.
For three hours they chanted, prayed, and banged the drums. Three hours. As a recovering Catholic, the church never subjected me to three continuous hours, not even on Christmas. My powers were no match for the group, so I turned them on my side kick--Get Us Into Shitty Situations Girl.
My beams of resentment are still fixed on her...
So stay tuned because you'll never know what adventures we'll find ourselves in next...wait, what's that?Rachel inviting someone over for dinner? I must go...
No comments:
Post a Comment