Dancing Queen

Ok, so I am not referring to the awful ‘70s song by Abba. I am referring to Sasha. The lady with the soap in her eyes from previous ramblings. Yes, she appears in many of my days. Four to five times a week to be exact. Not only was I trapped in a paid hour of "therapy for her jiggly ass," but she would haunt me in the locker room, the local bar on Saturdays and a variety of other places that I considered off limits. She wanted to “get the jiggle off.” That was her goal in life. When I meet a client we go through the assessment. We create a list of goals, long and short term. The jiggle was an absolute catastrophe in Sasha's little bubble. I really was not sure what “jiggle” truly was. So, I was not the only person enlisted in this operation. The plastic surgeon played a major role in this drama. He had the courage to work with this woman frequently. The “jiggle” as Sasha spoke of often was sucked out of her ass and inner thighs and was then injected into her scary little face. Isn't that a pretty picture?

1:00pm
Sasha’s Monday afternoon appointment. No sign of her yet.
1:10pm
First phone call placed to Sasha. No answer. Keep in mind, I arrived at 5:00am. Shift ended at 1pm. Nap time and snack scheduled for approximately 2:05pm.
1:13pm
Eyes feel heavy, stomach is digesting itself. The thought of a pillow and blanket luring me in. Knowing that if not for this appointment my destination would be reached earlier. 20 minute waiting rule for clients in most fitness facilities.
1:17pm The arrival of Sasha.
The excuse today was a good one. She was dying her hair. Her hair was constructed out of extremely long extensions that reached her surgically altered bottom. In this process , the hair at the crown of her head got burned by the bleach. She arrived sporting a punk rockesque faux hawk at the top of her head with the remaining locks still long and mostly bleached to crayon yellow.

Wednesday Night Session Scheduled for 4:30pm
We are at this point approaching 4:59pm no answer, no returned phone call. No sign of Sasha.
5:30pm Next client arrives. Session complete. Still no word
It is now 7pm. Midway through third scheduled client.
Picture the setting. An average gym during a prime time hour. I am in a uniform shirt with Trainer printed on it. Black pants and running shoes on. My client by my side, 5’7 black hair cut to her chin, lean and athletic, mid pull up, Sasha runs across the gym floor “I’m here, I’m here.” Now, 7:01. I turn my gaze to my watch then to Jeanette, my current client, back to my watch then to Sasha. Exemplifying a look of pure confusion. “I’m here.” She repeats it as if it is going to change the situation. My gaze changes to a glare. “I am in a scheduled session Sasha….You did not show up for yours.” Stunned she peers back at me through red eyes. “I got shampoo in my eyes.” Taken back by the lack of creativity of some emergency excuse that would cause a two hour delay, I respond with “Seriously?! I am in a session. I cannot train you now.” Needless to say this did not go over well. Because in the land of Sasha, time stands still for her.
She proceeded to call me a “little bitch.” I thanked her for the compliment and dismissed her with a simple “Goodbye.”
Of course this was unfortunately not our final encounter. No where near it.