Party pooper

Sometimes my gym fancies itself as more of a nightclub than a place of fitness. Tonight, for example, when I walked in the entrance for my workout, I was greeted by tables of hors d'oeuvres, fully stocked bars, a DJ and some models, waiting around for their outfits to arrive. Apparently, there was to be a fashion show in the middle of the workout floor.

I guess in theory it sounds cool, to bring a little New York or Los Angeles nighttime chic to the dull and ordinary gym. It also apparently entices potential new members to take a tour and perhaps start shelling out some hard-earned cash to work out amongst the "glamour."

Unfortunately, I'm not entirely comfortable working out with dozens of people in their cocktail finest strolling through the gym floor, drinks in hand. I'm averse to the loud music the DJ plays, I find the smells of the hors d'oeuvres to be distracting and I resent the dirty looks I get from the models whose paths I'm apparently blocking while trying to do curls. Consequently, I rushed through my workout to get the hell out as quickly as possible.

I guess I'm just an old-fashioned panda, but I tend to go to the gym to work out.