Gym nastiness

Mr. Smith and I run at our apartment gym on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays (we've been running on the treadmill 100% because the weather has been kind of unpredictable lately!). The last few times we've been in there, there has been a very, very sweaty person (male) using one of the treadmills.

Let me paint you a picture of what our apartment "gym" is like: It is a tiny, tiny room. There are three treadmills, side by side. There is one TV on the wall. There is one remote control.

Mr. Smith and I have both made the mistake of picking up the remote after the sweaty person had left the gym. This experience has scarred me for life. That remote control...was so slick and greasy that I'm surprised it didn't fly out of my grasp, break through the window, and sail across the parking lot. Seriously. I think I threw up a little in my mouth when it happened to me. Which was Wednesday, by the way. I then proceeded to completely spray down the entire treadmill, remote, and half of the whole freaking room. And scrub my hands with bleach. Okay, not really. But you get the point.

Said sweaty guy always watches the stupidest shit on TV. When it's just the two of us, we like to watch MSNBC. Okay, wait, that was a lie. If I'm alone, I like to watch anything on Bravo. When it's the two of us, "we" like to watch MSNBC while I listen to my iPod. What can I say? MSNBC just isn't a big motivator for me.

Anyway, back to Sweaty Guy (SG from here on out). On Wednesday, SG was watching some stupid show on MTV (yes, yes, I know, I watch the Hills, but this was so much worse, trust me). It was so stupid that it necessitated me picking up the remote to change it when he was done, prompting the above incident.

Today, he was watching a special on cavemen on the History channel. Also, not something I find super motivating. The best part? The subtitles that described the music. He was clearly pretty into the show, but when it said "*exotic flute and percussive music*" I busted out laughing. How could I not?

After dripping sweat EVERYWHERE, SG got off the treadmill and started walking out the door. That's when Mr. Smith yelled at him. "HEY. CAN YOU CLEAN OFF YOUR STUFF? YEAH. THANKS." SG looked a bit surprised and shellshocked...and then proceeded to spray one spray of special gym cleaner on a paper towel and half-heartedly pat down the treadmill. Not the remote, of course.

We turned the TV off manually when we were done.