The sign read “Ring the bell for service with a smile!” Next to the text a glittery sticker of a smiley face reflected the sun beaming in through the tinted windows of Hopskip Fitness Center.
There was enough positive energy in there to blow up a house.
The few members there were elder and sweating. One was panting on the treadmill; another rolled on his stomach and stretched his arms and legs on an exercise mat. Two of the stationary bikes were being used by twins. There was a woman outside, in the pool area, and her pubic hair dangled out of either side of her bathing suit. A man with white hair wrestled with the free weights. Two more seniors occupied the hot tub. Someone was showering. The afternoons are usually when it’s the busiest.
It was a clear day, hot and rigid. A slight kick-up of Classic Rock was on the speakers that occasionally would cut out while the satellite channel on the computer buffered. But you couldn’t hear it anyway.
The bell, the one you ring for service with a smile, was sounding off loud and resonant. It clanged at earsplitting volume. Outside it sounded like an alarm system going off. If the current attending members of Hopskip had been younger they may have been interrupted by the noise long enough to be repulsed into vacating the establishment.
The conductor was a small boy, about the age of four. He had reached up from the depths and climbed the front counter, knocking over signs and spilling a pen holder out of his way. And while he held his place at the top of the counter with one hand, legs dangling and scratching madly, his other hand repeatedly slammed down on the shiny silver signal with such enthusiasm and force that John could barely speak to the kid’s mother about membership prices.
“So,” John attempted, “These prices, um, are for, uh, month-to-month . . .”
Every few words John had to pause to gather the next group of words before speaking. That goddamn bell. So sudden and distracting. It was that annoying person who always spoke over you with no consideration. He could feel the fillings in his teeth rattling in response to the bells call.
The woman seemed unscathed by the racket. Must be like that all the time with this little shit, John thought. Four years of noise and she’s so desensitized she can’t even acknowledge it anymore. Nothing’s registering. Still, John tried. “When you join month-to-month, uh, there’s an introductory fee of, um, only $49 . . .”
His eyes shifted between the woman’s eyes and the little boy’s hand on the bell. The kid was overtly excited—he had relentless energy. John had to squeeze his eyes shut to relieve the partial tension in his head. The ringing could carry out for another few minutes and float around in the stale air of the place if the kid stopped; another handful of time John’s ears would need to endure just to forget that fucking sound. He bit down, his teeth ground into each other. If he hadn’t just spent his break swigging from his flask in the handicapped restroom he may have lost his patience already.
“So, are there any specials going on?” the woman asked. She was big—not quite fat, but took up space. She had on a tough façade. She wore a large lavender blouse that hung down over her breasts and stopped just short of her waist. Below that, a protruding belly. She had another child in her left arm, an infant just under twelve months. John was baffled as to how the baby wasn’t affected by the crashing of the bell.
“Well, uh, that is, um, a good question . . .” John said. Then the kid picked up speed. The sound gnawed into John’s eardrum. He tried to be as patient as possible. He tried to portray Hopskip’s friendly attitude as best he could, but he knew that this would not have a happy ending. He took a deep breath and did it in an attempt to dissuade any cause for concern. As he exhaled the smell of cheap whiskey washed over the woman’s face and she stopped abruptly. “Wait,” she said. “Have you been drinking?”
“Me?” over the bang! bang! bang! of the bell.
“Don’t get cute with me,” said the woman. “That was liquor on your breath. I can smell it. You’re drunk, aren’t you?” She was scoffing in rhythm with the bell.
Cling! Cling! Clang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
John smirked and stepped back. “No, ma’am,” he said. “I’m not drunk . . . I haven’t, um, been drinking . . . The special we have right now is, um, for uh, family members. If they join—”
“I can’t believe it!” the woman screamed. The baby bounced around in her arm like it had a violent case of hiccups. “What kind of place is this? What kind of example are you supposed to set—especially if I am to bring my children in here?”
Bang! Clang! Clang! Ping! Bang! Ding! Ding!
The bell was producing an almost continuous tone, close to that of a single sine wave emitting from a vintage electric synthesizer. John leaned forward and looked over the price sheet he had laid out on the counter. As he did, the kid and the bell came closer to his ears. “Um, no . . . Wait, uh, this introductory price is only, um, available until the 15th of the month . . .”
“I smell it! I smell it all over you! You have been drinking! Where’s your manager, huh pal?” The woman’s face had gone from blasé to stern in two seconds. “Well, uh, the manager?” John said. “You see, um, well, actually, the—”
“Where is your fucking manager?!”
Her voice was as loud as the bell, its partner in crime. The baby suddenly began to cry as well. The noise had just gone from intolerable to an absolute fucking revolution.
John tried to assess the situation, tried to calm the woman, to hush the yelping baby. He tried to fight the urge to rip that kid’s arm from the socket and snap it across his shin like a branch from a tree, but there was no going back. She had smelled the booze and wasn’t, for some strange odd reason, offended enough to just walk out the door. She wanted something else. Everyone wants something else.
BANG! BANG! BANG! CLANG! CLANG! FLANG! FLANG! CLANG!
“Look,” John said, “the manager—”
“I can’t believe a place like this would employ such a person! You shouldn’t be working here! Where is the manager! I want you fired for your behavior! You have no business being here!”
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
“Hold on a second,” said John. “Just wait a sec—”
“You’re drunk! That’s what you are! You’re a drunk! A drunk! A goddamned drunk!”
John rubbed his temples and looked out into the bowels of the fitness center. The current members, they all had stopped everything they were doing and were now staring at him, watching this enraged woman yelling, her baby crying, the fucking kid and the bell. They watched John in utter confusion. They began gathering around in a small clump making faces at the scene unfolding.
“DRUNK! A DRUNK! YOU’RE A DRUNK!”
“Ma’am, please, calm dow—”
BANG! BANG! BANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
John could feel his face getting red. He looked down at the sheet of paper that rested between him and the woman and began tuning it all out. He tried to, anyway. All the noise, the unstoppable force that had revved up in front of him was still barreling down on him, pushing on him, pressing on him.
“Ma’am, at Hopskip Fitness—”
“DRUNK! DRUNK!! YOU’RE A LOUSY, FILTHY, STINKING DRUNK!”
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
“Ma’am, please, I will ask—”
“YOU GODDAMNED DRUNK! YOU FILTHY FUCKING DRUNK!”
The walls were closing in. The sun dimmed and burnt out. The world was a pit of despair and echoing mass hysteria. It backed him against the wall like a monolith in a fit of vengeance. It cast a shadow across his reddened face. It took him to the brink. He bit down, he squinted, he rubbed his temples so more. His hands shook. His legs weakened. Their eyes were on him. All eyes were on him. This was it.
John leapt over the counter, reached out and snatched the bell away from the kid. The kid fell from the counter and landed hard on his ass against the linoleum with a look of surprise. The sudden absence of the absurd clanging caused the members of the club to cringe and shake their heads in reflex. The woman was struck by John’s movement so much that her squealing was sliced.
John leaned back with all of his might and pitched the bell into the ground. Upon impact the bell let out one final raging cough of a sound. Shrapnel shot out in every direction. No other explosion could have had more triumph than this one. The onlookers covered their mouths. They gasped. They anticipated John’s next move. John looked the woman square in the eye and with screaming blind rage across his mug he said, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, ma’am.”
“You, why you, I can’t believe—”
“Ma’am! We have the right to refuse service to anyone,” John was face to face with her. “Anyone! That includes you! I don’t appreciate your attitude, or your kid’s behavior.”
“You,” the woman gasped, “Don’t you say a word about my—”
He leaned very close to her and the woman recoiled. “I, refuse to give you service. I will not discuss the prices with you. I do not want you at this club. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to vacate . . .”
The woman looked to the crowd of senior citizens who had stopped their workout routines to watch the action. Even the woman with the pubes out by the swimming pool had wandered in.
“This man attacked me!” the mother shouted. “He attacked my child!”
She looked for support. She looked for someone to side with her. But all she got were mystified faces and nothing else.
John’s demeanor had returned to his normal calm state and he said very profoundly, “If you won’t leave, ma’am, I will have to call the police . . .”
And he motioned for the front door. The woman was awestruck. She reached down and helped her little brat off his ass and with the baby in the other arm they stormed out the door. Her final words were, “I’m calling your manager, and I’m seeing to it that you are fired!”
John stood and watched as she piled her kids into her SUV and started the engine. When the vehicle was good and gone, John walked back around the counter and sat in his chair. From his seat he could see the point of impact where the bell had exploded. A golf ball sized indentation was left at ground zero. He pulled his flask out and took a long pull. Then he turned to see all of the members in attendance. They were gathering around the bell like it was some holy bird that had been shot down from the sky and fell to its death before them.
John took the price sheet from the counter and put it back into a pile of papers. He scooped up all of the pens and pencils that had fallen and rolled around. Next to that he replaced his sign that had been there from the start before the obnoxious kid had knocked it out of the way. It read: John Dodge. Club Manager.
Author: Lawrence Goodwin
