Shop Talk: Rember, you didn't hear this from me.

I have told this story once before. But it's so funny; I think I'll tell it again. All the conversations that take place inside a health club aren't about fitness. Case and point: A while back, I was part of an interesting conversation that took place beside the front desk of one of the health clubs where I once worked. We spoke in normal voices, so anyone who was near or around would have been able to hear us, although that wasn't our intent. A fellow trainer/friend and I were conversing, when a member who has an eye for my friend walked in. She's an interesting character of sorts, in fact she's a working girl, which is just a nice way of saying she's a prostitute. I'll refrain from the usual derogatory terms. Well, she joined our little conversation, and needless to say most of her attention and comments were directed towards my friend. Fine by me, I just sat back and watched the floor show. I'd like to say she was flirting, but that would imply discreet suggestive behavior. There is nothing discreet about this woman. She tells you what she wants, and how she wants to do it in graphic detail.

Now just when I didn't think it could get any better, her cellphone rang. She took the call which lasted all of seven seconds and hung up abruptly. Apparently, it was a client, and she exclaimed out loud, "I don't have time for that, for a hundred dollars all you get is a hand-job." So, at this point, I was curious. I asked her how much do you charge for the platinum package. She told me the most she charged was five hundred dollars for couples. I thought to myself, "that's quite reasonable. Maybe I should hire her for Valentine's day." Just kidding. Really, I'm just kidding. She then went on to describe in detail how much she charged for every possible sex act you can imagine. Apparently, she is very versatile.

That then led us to the next part of the conversation, which had her describing exactly what she wanted to do with my friend. Being the smart-ass that I am, I reached behind the front desk and handed the keys to a storage room inside the club to my friend. Let me tell you she was quite ready to go to, as she called it, "the boom boom room." But I'm happy to say that my friend rejected the idea. Otherwise, he might have had to have his penis amputated to stop gangrene from spreading through the rest of his body.

There are a lot of stories like this that take place inside of a many heath clubs; in the future, I may write a book about them. Until then, word to the wise; stay out of questionable areas around the club, and scrub thoroughly and immediately after each visit. You never know who did what, and where.