Many of you are familiar with cell phone guy, a douchebag (and I do not use that term lightly) at my gym who is constantly calling his guy friends and having inane conversations with them about a narrow spectrum of topics that range from the digital quality of the most recent celebrity sex tapes to whether or not cell phone guy could do a better job on the field than one Yankee player or another.
He seems to have a bad case of the short guy complex, an even worse case of facial hair, and an overall obnoxious demeanor. He’s got that thing going where he is constantly trying to convince everyone around him that he’s cool, and I hate that thing.
When I had a real job with real hours, cell phone guy and I used to go to the gym at the exact same time every day and, without fail, I would end up having to hear him talk to some buddy about riveting subjects such as how he was totally at the gym working out. It drove me mad - to the point at which I one day walked up to him and yelled, simply, “Cell phone!” He did not take it well, but he also did not stop his chatty behavior. In fact, I’m pretty sure that after the shouting incident, he started picking elliptical machines close to me and began calling more and more people.
Thankfully, at about this time, I quit my job - a move that not only improved my sanity career-wise but that also allowed me to go to the gym earlier in the day. Cell phone guy seemed to be in my past. However, as the weeks go by, I find myself missing our contentious relationship, to the point where I enjoy showing up at the gym so that our workouts overlap by only five minutes or so - long enough for me to get a good long glare in and long enough for me to have that mini day dream where I get to refer to him as “Chatty Cathy” (Ben’s name for him) to his face.
In fact, I have a few mini hateful daydreams about him. I picture him living his lame life, perhaps spending too much time each morning sculpting his utterly disgusting goatee-stache, perhaps lying about his height on an online dating site, perhaps wondering what it would be like to actually have sex with a girl. I revel in the fact that talking on the cell phone prevents him from going fast enough on his elliptical for him to see any results. I love assuming that the people he is calling are either all in prison or all in his role-playing club.
Here’s the point: I think I have an unhealthy, hate-filled relationship with this guy. And, more than that, he might not even give me a passing thought - an idea that makes me even angrier. Cell phone guy is a recurring character in my life and in my imagination, and he might not even be taking the time to hate me back.
Is this normal? Do you see people in your everyday lives that you have constructed entire lives and personalities for? More than that, do you ever hate these people? Or is it always the cute girl at the coffee shop who hands you your cinnamon bagel every morning, and are you just imagining how wistful and quirky and lonely she is all day?
I think I have a problem. I’m just not sure what that problem is. For the time being, I’m going to assume my problem is, plainly and simply, cell phone guy.
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