TRAINER: So let's talk about what you're looking to accomplish here at the gym. Do you have any specific goals in mind?
COWORKER: I want to be a beef king.
TRAINER: Okaaaaay. A beefcake.
She took out the first sheet of paper and wrote “wants to be a beefcake” in the goals section.
COWORKER: You wrote “wants to be a beefcake” - I want to be a beef king. King.
TRAINER: Beef... king. Sorry. Right. And, um, how long have you had this goal?
COWORKER: TWO HOURS.
He went back the next week and told his trainer he had an additional goal.
COWORKER: I forgot to tell you before - I want to grow a butt.
Ever since then, the coworker has been blending a lot of protein powder into his smoothies. He calls the smoothies “man milk” and then he grunts while drinking them. It actually looks like he's making progress, though. Like, he's developed these little dents that stay visible under his shoulder muscles and biceps even when he's not flexing.
It makes me feel a little guilty about the current jellyfish-like state of my own arms, but not guilty enough to drink the man milk. That stuff looks vile.
I have another coworker who turned 21 last week and she drank 21 shots of espresso to celebrate. She spent most of the rest of her shift throwing up. Her supervisor told me she threw up 15 times, which is kind of a shame. I really think if she'd tried harder she could've found something to make herself throw up six more times. THEN she'd really have a story to tell the hypothetical grandkids.