What Would You Do: Part 2

So there I am. I have pedaled alongside Dog Owner and given him my best Boston Legal James Spader closing for why he should never ever EVER leave Star Jones in the hot sun while he's working out. 

But what about Gym Dude? What to do about Mr. High and Mighty I am the Man because I scan your gym card and I sit behind a counter. 

Do I let it go and just shuffle out, satisfied with my good deed of the day? Or do I channel my Bitch Ass experience from the other day and make sure Gym Guy knows I ain't down with being clowned?

You guessed correctly. On my way out, I interrupted his "Have a good day!" with a polite, "Could we talk for a sec?" We sat down and I opened with the classic:

"I'm Vicky. What's your name?"

That way I could repeat Gym Guy's name repeatedly with each point I was about to make. Nothing like hearing, "Bob, I did not appreciate your tone with me today." "Bob, do you know how old that dog was?" "Bob, Animal Control takes animal cruelty very seriously in this county." "Bob, it is your responsibility. It's my responsibility. It's everyone's responsibility to be a voice for the innocent and defenseless." "Bob, it was nice talking with you."

Sure, Gym Guy threw in a couple things about how it wasn't his job and that he had talked to the dog owner. He was convinced he told me that but I was like, "Dude, if you told me that we wouldn't be having this conversation."

But he allowed me to finish my mini-rant and we have not crossed paths again yet.

No hard feelings on my part. As long as Star's all good, so am I. 

Seriously though. Don't ever nod at me and think you're sending me on my way. That is just not going to happen. I'm not your kid, your dog, or a solicitor at your door. 

The bright side of What Would You Do moments: Learning what NOT to do.

What Would You Do: Part 1

Total John Quinones What Would You Do moment at the gym.

Midway through re-telling the story to The Good Doctor, he was all, "I sense a blog post."

Damn skippy you do!

As you know, I have returned my Jedi to the gym. On my way in, I see a giant, panting German Shepherd tethered inside the back of a pick up truck. We exchange hellos and I give him a wide berth because I love animals but not mammoth dog bites. But I see he's scootched all the way up to the end of the truck bed where there's just a sliver of shade from the overhang by the front door to the gym.

I go inside, tormented. Do I say something about the dog or just MMOB and try to build up my puny muscles to Kelly Ripa standards? I decide, inspired by John Quinones and the possibility of hidden cameras, to say, "Hey, do you know who owns that dog?"

To which the guy at the gym says, "Yeah."

Me: "Well, he looks pretty hot in the back of that truck."

Gym Guy: "He's OK."

Me: "Uh, can we ask the owner to move the truck to a shady spot?"

Gym Guy: "No. He's fine. It's nice out." Nods at me like, "Go on now."

Me: "Are you shitting me?!" Except, I don't say that. I just raise my eyebrows and frown and shuffle inside.

Stewing. I put my stuff into my cubbyhole and try to start up some chest presses. But I keep looking at the dog outside, in the sun, and it totally messes up my mojo. The dog is Star Jones pre-gastric bypass trying to squeeze into shade that's Star Jones post-gastric bypass.

And Gym Guy was so Bitch Ass with his condescending tone. So I call Animal Control. I know, dramatic. But I didn't know whose dog it was and I wanted Animal Control to at least call Gym Guy and say, "You need to tell the dog owner to move to a shady spot." It was that simple. Shady trees all over the parking lot. Just do like Ty Pennington and "MOVE THAT TRUCK!" Bus, whatever.

So I'm trying to do a quad extensions after giving all my info to The Authorities. It's totally nervewracking. I'm not trying to be a doucher but if Star Jones dies on my watch, I will be deeply scarred. Or if John Quinones pops out and says, "Why didn't you do anything? You saw Star Jones, obviously panting in distress. It's 90 degrees out in the direct sun!"

In my 37th glance out the door, I suddenly see this Indian man in his 60's standing by the driver's side door, talking on his phone. I call The Authorities back and tell them the dog owner is leaving. Please cancel SWAT.

Relieved, I squeeze in some lat pulldowns. Just as I walk toward the Bosu, squint. Is that the same guy I just saw outside? IT IS. ELVIS IS BACK IN THE BUILDING. And he's about to do some cardio on the recumbent bike. Another decision. I seat myself next to him and start pedaling.

Me: "Hello!" Friendly friendly not creepy smile.

Dog Owner: "Hi."

Me: Pedal pedal.

Dog Owner: Pedal pedal.

Me: "Is that your dog out there?"

Dog Owner: "Yes it is."

Me: Pedalpedalpedal. "He looks hot." Smile smile, see I'm friendly, not mean!

Dog Owner: "Oh yes. But I'm only going to be 10 more minutes on the bike and then I will take him home." Smile.

Me: Pedalpedalpedal. Small talk about cricket. Indian culture. Stock market.

In between the small talk: "How old is he?"

"Oh wow, 10 is old for a big dog."

"You know, older dogs are more susceptible to hyperthermia because their systems can't regulate heat as well." 

"Oh yes, I used to volunteer for a veterinarian when I was younger. Yep. That's how I know all this."

"I sure wouldn't want to be outside in the direct sun wearing a big ole fur coat." 

I mix in some small laughs as I try to control my dagger eyes hinting that Star Jones IS DYING OUT THERE IN THE SUN, MISTER.

Dog Owner: "Oh yes, that's true. I put lots of water out there for him though. A lot of water."

Me: Pedalpedalpedal. We're going on 15 minutes on the bike. I have made my point. Short of fishing his keys out of his pocket, I feel I've done what I can and bid him a nice workout. We shake hands and I thank him for the stock advice and he thanks me for the dog advice. We have become friends.

He goes on to do some weights for another 10 minutes before finally taking Star Jones home.

I'm relieved he was so nice, if a little oblivious. Hopefully Star lived to see another day. And I didn't have to be a Bitch Ass about it.

But Gym Guy. Gym Guy needed to know something. Just in case John Quinones was watching.