Life's little inconveniences

Today was the third day in a row that the barrel of disinfectant wipes closest to the treadmills I work out on at the gym was empty.

They have a "rule" that everyone must wipe off their machines after use. And usually I adhere strictly to this social statute. But since they ran out of wipes (there must be some kind of strike at the disinfectant-wipe-making company) the next best thing they have to offer is a roll of paper towels and a bottle of disinfectant they've inconveniently placed all the way at the front of the gym.

Monday I was so tired, I couldn't bear to take the extra steps there and back, and at the risk of being labeled "that girl," I didn't give my treadmill a wipe down. Yesterday, conscious of onlookers around me and feeling a tad guilty for my lack of consideration the previous day, I went ahead and wiped. Today, annoyed that they had not yet filled the barrel, I bucked the system, and purposely did not wipe.

Then I realized that if other sweathogs at the gym were operating in the same manner, I was likely using a damn dirty machine. So I have instead decided that on my walk TO the treadmill, I will stop and grab a paper towel, spritz it with cleaner and wipe off my machine BEFORE I work out. Just like how John Cage in Ally McBeal wanted a fresh toilet bowl every time he peed, I feel I deserve a sweat-free machine before I work out.

It's every sweathog for herself.