**Note: This entry was written in February, 2010; I just never posted it!**
In their efforts to improve our health, my employers recently implemented a walking program. The premise is simple: participants join teams, and each team member receives a pedometer. The team that walks the most steps wins.
While I was supportive of the cause, I am by nature non-competitive. Maybe I’m a big wuss, but I like to think that we’re all winners. Or maybe I just watched too much Sesame Street as a kid.
During one lunch one day, Sandy casually walked by and asked if I wanted to join her team. Joining a team of middle-aged women doesn’t necessary scream COMPETITIVE, so I shrugged and said, “Sure, why not!”
And just like that, I had been jumped into a gang.
Sandy, my team captain, and formerly sweet lady, had designs on first place. She was bound and determined to win. At first I didn’t recognize her peculiar brand of crazy, but I slowly recognized the signs.
First, Sandy (hereafter Psycho Sandy) wanted us to purchase team shirts. Unfortunately, my size wasn’t available, so I was given a triple XL. When I put it on, it reached my knees. As I looked in the mirror, I thought that my shirt would be appropriate for a demonstration on the school dress code. (Girls, note that your hems should just be at knee length.) However, when other colleagues saw my untucked t-shirt, they called me Gangsta Afram. Apparently, my flowing t-shirt screamed Thug Life!
Second, Psycho Sandy wanted me to e-mail her my steps. Daily. When I asked if I could submit my steps on a weekly basis, she quickly shot that idea down. “No. I need your data every day.” Not only does our gang have terrible fashion sense, but we’re disciplined. And anal-retentive.
Initially, Psycho Sandy doesn’t appear diabolical; in fact, she’s more of a soccer mom. And that’s part of her insidious strategy: she’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Her peppy e-mails are rife with smiley faces and exclamation points. I didn’t realize this when I was “jumped” into the group, but we are the Gang of Cuteness. Our goal is to walk all over the enemy, smiling along the way.
More recently, others gang members have started to question our leader. One of our members, for example, fell ill. Since she wasn’t able to walk, Psycho Sandy quickly cut her from the group. Apparently, she wasn’t pulling her weight.
Since I was curious about life on The Outside, I talked to my former gang member.
Me: “I heard you got cut.”
Disgruntled Former Walking Gang Member: “This is bullshit. This is a fucking walking group. It’s supposed to be fun.”
Me: “I’m sorry.”
Disgruntled Former Walking Gang Member: “I’ve spent so much money on this thing. First, I bought that butt-ugly t-shirt, and then I purchased a new pedometer. At least I’m now free.”
Me: “Take me with you.”
Not everyone gets cut from our gang, though. Sometimes we’re just sharply reprimanded. Recently, Psycho Sandy scolding a team member for not having enough steps. Several staff heard my team member plaintively cry, “I’m sorry, but I’m trying the best I can!”
* * *
I recently had a conversation with my mother when I expressed my regret over Sandy’s fascist tendencies. Mom was unsympathetic. “Mark, let this be a lesson. You should have researched your team better.”
I can’t believe my mother. Since when do people need to conduct a background check on team captains for walking groups? If this is true, society has reached a new low.
If I ever make it out of this gang, I will enter public service, speaking to children about the dangers of gangs and how they destroy a person’s life.
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