Hot Josh and the Gym Equipment Reservation System
I arrived at the gym at 6:17 p.m.
Peak hour.
Every treadmill was occupied.
The free weights were surrounded by people examining themselves in mirrors.
Someone was taking selfies beside a machine they hadn’t actually used.
And the music was loud enough to qualify as a structural concern.
I had a plan.
Thirty minutes of cardio.
Twenty minutes of weights.
Ten minutes of stretching.
Then home.
Efficient.
Disciplined.
Professional.
I approached my favorite weight machine.
Empty.
Beautiful.
I reached for the handle.
Then I noticed it.
A towel.
Draped over the seat.
Beside it sat a water bottle.
No person.
No movement.
No indication that anyone had used the machine recently.
Just a towel and a bottle.
Apparently gym equipment could now be occupied by accessories.
I looked around.
Nobody approached.
I waited.
Thirty seconds.
One minute.
Two minutes.
Nothing.
Finally, I removed the towel, folded it neatly, and placed it beside the water bottle.
Then I sat down.
I completed my first set.
Excellent.
Second set.
Even better.
Then a voice appeared behind me.
“Hey, man. I’m using that.”
I turned.
A man stood there holding his phone.
He looked irritated.
I looked at the machine.
Then at him.
“You’re using it?”
“Yeah.”
“From where?”
He pointed toward the towel.
“My stuff was there.”
I nodded.
“Yes. I met your towel.”
He stared.
I continued.
“Very quiet. Excellent manners.”
He wasn’t amused.
“I was saving the machine.”
“With a towel?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting.”
I stood.
Looked at the towel.
Then at the water bottle.
“So these two are working out together?”
He sighed.
“Come on, man.”
I gestured toward the empty space where he’d apparently been standing.
“How long were you gone?”
“Just a few minutes.”
“Doing what?”
“Talking to somebody.”
I nodded.
“Networking.”
“What?”
“Important part of fitness.”
He looked confused.
I continued.
“But unfortunately, your equipment reservation system appears to have expired.”
He crossed his arms.
“There’s no reservation system.”
“Exactly.”
Silence.
Beautiful silence.
Finally, he shrugged.
“Whatever. Finish your set.”
Reasonable.
Civilized.
Progress.
I finished.
Wiped down the machine.
And moved on.
Then I noticed something.
Across the gym, another machine had a towel draped over it.
No person.
Just a towel.
I looked toward the free weights.
Another abandoned water bottle.
Then a bench.
A gym bag.
Apparently the entire facility had become a parking lot for personal belongings.
I began investigating.
One machine had been empty for at least five minutes.
Another had a sweatshirt hanging over the handles.
A third had a phone resting on the seat while its owner stood fifteen feet away discussing protein powder.
This was getting ridiculous.
I approached the front desk.
“Excuse me. I need clarification on your equipment reservation policy.”
The employee smiled.
“We don’t reserve equipment.”
“Excellent.”
“It’s first come, first served.”
“Perfect.”
“Is there a problem?”
“Potentially.”
I pointed toward the gym floor.
“People are using towels to establish territorial claims.”
She laughed.
“Yeah, that happens sometimes.”
“Are towels recognized as legal occupants?”
“No.”
“Water bottles?”
“No.”
“Gym bags?”
“No.”
“What about a sweatshirt?”
She laughed harder.
“No.”
I nodded.
“Good. I wanted to make sure we were operating under the same constitution.”
I returned to the workout area.
And that’s when inspiration struck.
If people could reserve equipment with personal belongings…
Why couldn’t I?
I had a towel.
A water bottle.
A phone.
A gym bag.
Four items.
Four potential reservations.
I placed my towel on the bench press.
My water bottle beside the leg press.
My gym bag near the rowing machine.
And my phone on the stretching mat.
Then I stood in the middle of the gym.
Arms crossed.
Surveying my empire.
Four stations.
One Josh.
Unlimited possibilities.
A man approached the bench press.
“Are you using this?”
“Yes.”
He looked at the towel.
“Where are you?”
I pointed toward myself.
“Right here.”
“You’re not on the bench.”
“I’m rotating.”
He stared.
Then another man approached the leg press.
“Is this yours?”
“Temporarily.”
“Are you using it?”
“Strategically.”
A woman approached the stretching mat.
“Is that your phone?”
“Yes.”
“Can you move it?”
“Of course.”
I retrieved the phone.
She took the mat.
Apparently my reservation system had vulnerabilities.
Then the front desk employee appeared.
She looked at my towel.
My water bottle.
My gym bag.
Then at me.
“Josh?”
I smiled.
“Yes?”
“What are you doing?”
“Testing your reservation policy.”
“We don’t have a reservation policy.”
“Exactly. That’s the problem.”
She folded her arms.
“Are you actually using all these machines?”
“Not simultaneously.”
“Then you can’t reserve them.”
I nodded.
“Interesting.”
She waited.
I continued.
“So the towel doesn’t count?”
“No.”
“The water bottle?”
“No.”
“The gym bag?”
“No.”
“Then why was the first guy allowed to do it?”
She smiled.
“He wasn’t.”
There it was.
A breakthrough.
A universal standard.
I had accomplished something.
Not for myself.
For society.
I gathered my belongings.
Returned to one machine.
And finished my workout.
At 7:32, I headed toward the exit.
The employee waved.
“Have a good night!”
I stopped.
Turned around.
And pointed toward the gym floor.
“You’re welcome.”
She laughed.
“For what?”
“Policy reform.”
She shook her head.
I walked out.
Then realized I’d forgotten my water bottle.
I returned inside.
It was sitting beside the leg press.
A man was using the machine.
I approached.
“Excuse me. That’s my water bottle.”
He handed it to me.
“Here.”
I took it.
Then looked at the machine.
“Technically, I was here first.”
He stared.
I smiled.
“Just kidding.”
Mostly.
The lesson?
Hot Josh believes gym equipment should be available to the people actually using it.
Unless Hot Josh is saving it.
Then apparently the rules become considerably more complicated.
Because nothing builds muscle quite like carrying the weight of your own hypocrisy.
