They have no experience whatsoever.
They have no political background. No experience with public policy. They do not have close contacts within the city council nor do they know anyone at the public utility commission. They do not wear suits and they do not drive Bentleys.
But they have some really swanky workout gloves. (The kinds with the wrist wraps.)
They are the Mayor of the Gym and they are in every single gym in every single city in every single state throughout this country. They are normally over 50, wrinkly but firm, and have names like “George”, “Stan” and “Thompson.” And they know every single person’s name who works out at their gym. They even know your name and you’ve never shook their bony (but firm) hand before today.
Mayor of the Gym: “I’m Bernard. You’re Paul, right?”
Me: “Uh, yeah.”
Mayor of the Gym: “We’ve met before. Don’t you remember?”
Me: “Uh, no.”
Mayor of the Gym: “You were trying to lift two-fifty on the bench and I was nearby doing crunches and you were talking to someone about having to go to Dallas and that was when we met. How was Dallas?”
Me: “Was great, Bernard. So, technically we never really met.”
Mayor of the Gym: “It’s gonna be a nice day out today. Great to see you, Paul. See ya!”
And the Mayor of the Gym is off to the curling station where he meets up with yet another young woman who he hugs and kisses. If only she had a baby, the Mayor of the Gym would probably kiss that baby, too, reminding said baby of the time he/she was in the womb and the Mayor of the Gym touched the stomach on the outside of the womb and the two of them shared the moment.
The Mayor of the Gym, yes, probably does nothing but extend his 40 minute a day workout into a four hour a day workout. He probably takes every three-set exercise and turns it into a 30 minute set. He probably gets up every day, looks at his cheat sheet so he can remember to ask Fred about that colonoscopy, Denise about her bad breakup with that psycho Dan and he must remember to meet Jan’s new husband having just returned from their honeymoon in Hawaii.
The Mayor of the Gym, yes, probably has his best moments of his day at the gym. He probably leaves each day with the huge satisfaction that his extended family is doing well and he has had yet another day of close contact with all of them. The Mayor of the Gym is, well, a stand-up kinda guy… that is, when his lower back and arthritis isn’t giving him the jerkity-jerk.
It’s a good thing the Mayor of the Gym really doesn’t work out, because I’m not sure I could handle there being a Mayor of the Gym who grunts every time he lifts a weight. You know the kind of grunt – the, “I’m so important and so good at working out that I must grunt loudly so you are aware of my superior weight-lifting techniques”. See, if the Mayor of the Gym was that person… Well, I’d bitch slap him and send him packing.
Good thing he’s just a nice old man with a great memory for names.