"Yeeeeahhh muthaf**ka!" is often heard around the stair machine in the mornings and the treadmill in the evenings at my local LA Fitness. Those are the territories of "That Loud Lady." She's in her 40s, African American, and usually wears a large shirt over fitted black pants. In that respect, she's actually somewhat fashionable, unlike myself.
A literal siren of the gym, that Loud Lady always wears gigantic, airport-runway-traffic-director-like headphones that envelop her entire head. That's why she's so damn loud -- she can't hear herself!
I used to think she was just repeating rap lyrics as she'd randomly yell phrases like, "Ha sucker!" "You get em girl!" and "Don't f**k with me or you'll get hurt!" I kept waiting for a "That's how Rough Riders roll!" to confirm my conclusions. I kinda hoped she would. I seriously love old DMX.
Noticing that her headphones had a little Bluetooth light I also wondered if she was just talking to friends on the phone. Considering the frequency of her talking and without rhymes (bummer!), maybe she's not a budding rapper and instead just an enthusiastic conversationalist?
No one at the gym - staff or patron - dares to speak with that Loud Lady about her volume, despite the clear annoyance to the rest of the gym members. Her words are so venomous already. Could you imagine her response to a confrontation?
I hadn't seen That Loud Lady outside the gym until this past weekend when Amanda and I went to the health food store across from the gym. Tangent: Amanda thought she had pink eye so we were picking up some homeopathic hippie medication, which ended up to miraculously work. Either that or my wife never had pink eye and is a total hypochondriac. Just saying...
Anyway, That Loud Lady stood right next to us at the checkout lane. Even though this was a likely place to run into her, Amanda and I looked at each other like we were near the elusive Sasquatch or some other bigger-than-life and mythical creature. We had of course conjured That Loud Lady to this stature in our minds already.
Standing next to her though, she was real and tangible, likely on her way to her afternoon workout and picking up some energy mix packets on the way. OK, the military cargo shorts were a bit random, but she didn't have her absurdly large headphones and she had approached the checkout counter so quietly that we hardly noticed her at first.
The cashier let That Loud Lady know the total charge and the Loud Lady handed her a bill. As the cashier counted change out, we were turning to exit the store and I heard That Loud Lady murmur quietly to herself as we passed, "Yeah bitch. That's how we do."
At least she's consistent.
Things got a little weirder when we saw her later in the day at Target yelling at the clothes rack. She noticed us, too.
I'm over the gym antics and now I'm just scared. Ever since that day, I can't tell if I made a friend or foe, but I'm canceling that LA Fitness membership just to stay out of sight of That Loud Lady!