FLASH!!!

October 24, 2008

I heard the Queen song “Flash Gordon” on the radio the other day. Freddy Mercury rocks incidentally. Hearing it brought back a flood of memories.

No, I wasn’t a crimson suited hero who saved the planet in a campy past life (mine was more of a burnt caramel colour).

The story relates to a different past life where I used to work in a gym. I know! I KNOW!!!

At the time, one of my fellow staff members had a massive crush on a gym member named Shane Fallson.*

As chance would have it, she happened to score some liplocked, dirty, drunken, dancefloor action with said fellow at one of the gym’s social shindigs. She did not however have the opportunity, I say presence of mind, to arrange a subsequent meeting or acquire said target’s telephone number. Fucking amateurs…

Consequently, her infatuation made her evermore keen to casually bump into him at the gym, hopefully in order to move things along. However due to her intermittent work hours, combined with Shane’s irregular gym patterns, they kept passing like ships in the night.

Because I was a good Samaritan, or perhaps I was simply bored, I can’t remember, I decided to devise a system where our colleague could be signaled, just in case the target happened to enter her airspace.

After a few moments of pencil scribblings, I devised an anagram code name for Shane Fallson – that of “Flash Nealson”. The code name quickly stuck, so much so that every time our colleague came in to work she would eagerly ask “Is Flash in today?”

We soon tired of being constantly harangued for attendance updates. So one day, while she was out on the gym floor training a client, Flash walked in. As chance would have it, one of the aerobic instructors had an old workout tape with “Flash” by Queen.

By the time he came out of the changeroom, I had the tape set up and ready to go.

At the precise moment he walked out onto the gym floor, I cranked “Flash” up to full volume on the gym’s centre-wide speakers in order to alert our lovelorn, or lust borne, friend.

Initially we couldn’t locate her out on the gym floor as she was kneeling to help a client with an exercise, but the moment the opening sequence of “Dundun dundun dundun dundun dundun dundun dundun dundun Flash! Ah Aahh…. Saviour of the Universe!” had hit the airwaves, her head had whipped up and around like a startled meerkat.

She then promptly turned as red as Flash Gordon’s figure hugging bodysuit, closely followed by a hysterical giggling bout. Needless to say, she was a little too overwhelmed to sidle up to him on THAT particular day.

However the next time he came in, we performed the same ritual. He again made his grand entrance onto the gym floor to the throbbing beat of “Flash! Ah Aahh…. King of the Impossible!”

This time however, she at least regained her composure long enough to bail him up whilst he was belted in and contorting on one of the Nautilus machines.

Sadly, as it turns out, the asshole sheepishly informed her that he was actually engaged, and had done the dirty on his fiancé at the social event.

This however only fuelled our resolve to mindfuck this clown. Every single time the bastard came in for a workout, one of us would crank the speakers with “Flash! Ah Aahh…. He’ll save every one of us!”

As weeks went by, you could see the look of confusion slowly build each and every time it played, but to this day I doubt that Shane ever truly realised the full and complex nature of the machinations working behind the scenes.

But I daresay at some point he must have at least thought “Wow… these guys really love their Queen”.

* Name subtly changed to protect the guilty…

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Dream Analysts? Here… have a field day on me…

October 8, 2008

I dream quite a lot, however as a general rule I rarely remember much of the detail unless I consciously lock it into my memory the moment I awake.

In this instance, for some reason I dreamt that I was wandering the pool-deck of the Beijing Olympic Games while the swim events were in full swing… as is my habit.

All of the sudden, I am approached by a rather panicked-looking team official, who rambles something about the Aussie relay team being short one member, and hysterically implores me to fill in.

Now, those who know me appreciate that I am not much of a swimmer. I could swim to save myself, but only if the weather and tide felt to cooperate.

Even so, I find myself begrudgingly yielding to the desperate, pleading look in the man’s eyes. Hey! You try to say no to that face!

At this point, I am presented with one of those fancy one-piece Speedo Swimsuits (similar to the top photo, as opposed to the latter).

I must say I really don’t know what these “professional” athletes are going on about. The suit was quite easy to slip into and in my opinion, remarkably comfortable. Firm yet yielding…

I am subsequently led out to the starting blocks where I assemble with the other 3 members of my team. The race is about to begin, and one of my teammates stands up on the blocks in readiness for the starting signal. The gun goes off, and I watch on in nervous anticipation as he dives in and starts stroking his way down the pool. As I eagerly peruse his progress down the lane, I remain oblivious to the flurry of activity behind me.

Sensing my presence however, my other teammates turn and look at me, a mix of horror and stunned disbelief on their faces. They then start screaming and frantically pointing behind me. “Don’t just stand there! Go! GO!!!”

Bewildered, I turn around and see a representative from each team haring off on foot in the opposite direction of the starting blocks. Before I can finish asking “What the fuh?” my teammates push me and I start running in pursuit.

By the time I reach my opponents, they are all busily consumed with a task. I look down near my feet and see a large bucket, adorned with an emblem of the Australian flag. The bucket is filled to the absolute brim with nothing other than… mayonnaise?! (I believe it was Kraft). Alongside the bucket are four empty plastic squeeze bottles.

Puzzled, I turn to see my opponents feverishly attempting to fill their squeeze bottles with the mayonnaise by screwing the lids off and scooping gobfuls of the white goop in by hand. I look quizzically back at my teammates who frantically gesticulate to indicate that I should be doing the same.

Caught up in the rush, I quickly set about this awkward and ungainly task, but after 3 or 4 messy but futile attempts at scooping and stuffing (think of an 85 year old man sans Viagra), it dawns on me that there is a better way to skin this particular cat.

You know how when you accidentally squeeze too much shampoo into your hand in the shower, you can stand the bottle upright and squeeze the air out to create a vacuum so that when you place the tip back to the excess shampoo and release your grip, it sucks it back into the bottle? Bingo.

So I embark on using the suction technique. Lo and behold it works a treat. Noticing my rapid progress, my teammates energetically cheer me on, much to the chagrin of my fellow mayonnaise stuffers.

Having filled my 4 bottles, I quickly scoop ‘em up in my arms and race back to join my other three teammates, who have by now each completed a lap of the pool. When I get there, each of them takes a bottle, places it on top of their head and holds it there, urging me to do the same.

Said ritual complete, a nearby official announces us as “Winners!”

Caught up in the emotion, I start whooping and hollering and jumping for joy, thinking I’d pretty much single-handedly luck-boxed our way into an Olympic Gold Medal… As I try to elicit a high-five from each of my teammates, one of them discretely leans in and whispers “Dude, settle… it was only a heat”.

At least I can take solace in the fact that I will likely go down in the annuls of sporting history as the innovator of “The Stick Technique” for any future events of the 4 x 200m x 500ml Mayonnaise / Swim Relay.

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