Is LA Fitness safe for its employees and customers?

That time of year from Thanksgiving through Christmas always seems to "round me out" a bit. Seriously, I started to sound like a zipper when my thighs rubbed together. My boobs and butt were in two different time zones. So I did what everybody else does this time of year and I joined the gym.

The whole process began with a thin perky blond named Brittany sitting behind her desk wanting to know how committed I am to my fitness. Oh Lord she's qualifying me (being the sales snob that I am) and I won't cooperate. I smile and stare at her. She has no idea who she is dealing with. I'm already in a bad mood since I have to 1. join the gym 2. spend the money and 3. deal with her big toothy smile "made possible with Crest white strips". Then I tell her the truth. "I'm a retired swim suit model with a thyroid problem so I only want a month to month membership."

With my big girl pants on (snug in the waist and crotch) I make my way to the locker room. Womens locker rooms are interesting. I'm always amused at the number of tattoos. There was one young woman who had such a complicated colored tattoo from her elbows to her waist that you could not make out her nipples. All I could do was imagine how elongated it's all going to end up over time. Like a melted candle with only a resemblance of what used to be. And then my mind wandered to thoughts about how tragic it will be for a baby to be breast fed by her...."go ahead..scare the shit out of your little one before they've had a chance to grow up and be afraid of clowns". What has the world come to.

So finally I make it to the actual work out area and I will not go into details about my work out because it was not interesting nor can I describe it in an attractive manner.

My first day at the gym taught me a big lesson. Do not go at 10 a.m. TIMING IS EVERYTHING. When I stepped into the gym I thought I'd just arrived at a funeral. I've never seen so many poorly dressed haggered elderly people in my entire life (sorry Mom). And some of them exited the treadmill looking twice as old as they did when they began. Not a good thing to do for regaining their youth.

So on my way out I summoned Brittany. I asked her if there was a dress code. She said "yes, we ask that our members not wear clothes that cause concern." I said "what about clothes that make me vomit." Her blank stare made me want to take a flash light to her ear.....I was sure it would project light out the other side. I simply explained that the "seasoned" crowd seems to think that it's 1982. Some are wearing striped sweat bands. Others, "Members Only" jackets. Three women had Christmas sweaters and one short Asian lady wore coral lipstick along with a zip-up sweat suit made of parachute material. The word "HELP" is written all over this gym and I don't know if I want my reputation tagged to it.

She said she would talk to her boss. I grabbed my transistor radio, white stitched pant suit and headed out the door. I felt pretty good thinking "I may have just provided this place a Muracle."