Pin the Go-Between

I have been going to the same gym since 2003. Mostly, I go three to four times a week in my lunch break. Sometimes excuses intervene.

I’m a chatty person; I won’t deny that. The receptionists get to hear my dreadful witticisms on a regular basis. Please give them your pity.

On Wednesday, as I performed the regular hunt for my gym card, the receptionist – the one that experiences me the most – took to staring at my eyebrow piercing. “I’m just looking at your piercing”, she said as she moved her head closer to mine. “Did it hurt?”

“Did the ones in your ears hurt?” I responded with a smile. “I did them myself”, was the unexpected reply.

On closer inspection, I could see a series of self-inflicted pinholes in her ears. “I think that yours probably hurt more than mine”, said I. “You’re hardcore girl”, an earwigging colleague added. She too was staring at the ears. The attention on my eyebrow had been deflected.

It’s odd that someone who has stuck a needle through her own ears, several times, should be disturbed by the spike that points north-east from my eyebrow. Professionals delivered my piercings unto me, under very hygienic conditions.

“This one didn’t hurt at all”, I offered as my parting remark. I wiggled my neck piercing up and down as I walked towards the door. “It didn’t even bleed.”

After a slight pause, I had to stop.

“No! No, no, no! Emily, I have never seen that before. Aaaaa. What does your partner think of it? No! It must hurt. What does your partner think? I can’t believe it. What does your partner think? Emily, this is not right.”

I thought about it, and I couldn’t remember ever having asked My Geek for an opinion. In Zambia, a group of ticket touts took to following me to stare it. Eventually, when they questioned me about it, I jokingly told them that it had been placed there by magic. They told me that I’d go to hell. I hadn’t expected them to believe me, but I had yet to see Lusaka's Museum and to learn that 'Witchcraft is “alive and well” on planet earth'.

“I don’t know”, I responded with a cheeky grin. “Maybe I should ask My Geek. Do you want me to ask and to bring back a note?!”

“Yes, I would. I really would.” That was the Eastern European response. My task was set.

On finishing my gym session, the receptionist told me that I didn’t really have to ask, or to get a note. She didn’t want to get me into trouble. It would seem that, on occasion, her boyfriends have been a little dictatorial. She wanted that note though. It was in her every expression. She wanted nothing more than that note. “If I remember, I will ask”, I said, “and I will try to bring you a note”.

I went to the gym again on Friday. My Geek had written the note on Wednesday night, and I had remembered to put it in my bag.

As usual, I put my bag on a chair in reception and began my search for my card. The note was with it. “Did you get it?” the reception eagerly inquired. I looked to the skies with a wry smile, and continued to rummage. “You did!” she exclaimed. “Oh, no, you didn’t. You didn’t!” She knew that I had.

If I could bottle laughter, what proceeded would be the laughter of choice. The receptionist is not a girl of giggles. She likes to think of herself as being a little socially remote. She doesn’t go to clubs or bars. She lives on a raw food diet. She is friendly, but lives within herself. The outside world is something to study from a distance rather than an entity to be part of, indulge in and get hurt by.

On that day, on Friday the Thirteenth, she roared. The receptionist at the gym roared and once she started, she couldn’t stop. I gave her the note and grinned. I’m not sure if she could read it. She was laughing too much to talk. I scampered away to exercise, carrying the beauty of laughter with me, as it echoed up the stairs.

On my return to reception, some forty minutes later, the laughter had quelled a little and was playing itself out. The stopper had been released and a little fizz was left. A little giggle appeared, retreated, and then returned.

Alongside my gym card, I gained a folded compliment slip. I may have said it before, but the world IS a very beautiful place. I am an idiot bearing gifts of notes and little more. The notes are special, not because of what they say, but because they exist. Their existence made a very lovely person laugh. She laughed just because she knew. She laughed right from the bottom of her belly, through the rooftops and I wouldn’t be surprised if the man on the moon heard her.

Note from My Geek:
“I love Emily’s piercings. I find them to be attractive and rebellious. Emily has always been a free spirit, which is what attracted to me to her in the first place. The piercings are an extension of that. Yours My Geek.”

Note from Gym Receptionist:
“Dear My Geek, Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me. Sorry for being nosey, but I don’t know anyone with a piercing in their neck so I felt that I had to question Emily properly. Yes you are right – Emily is very special! Best wishes, The Gym Receptionist.”

Fabpants Recommends: The Perils. I saw The Perils at the Official Leftfield Glastonbury Warm Up Show (Rock Against Racism) on Friday. They were brilliant, as tight as a crab’s arse and played some wicked tunes. While my body danced with delight, my jaw was on the floor. They were the best of six great acts that I saw that night and they were first, the support of all supports. Imagine ‘The View’ if they were consistently good, and could transfer their moments of greatness to the stage. I’d like to add a ‘big up’ to Carnival Collective. They gave us a brilliant encore on the beach, after getting a ‘times up, so piss off’. A fab night all round.