The 8 o'clock People

One of the weirdest things about my new-found freelance life is the schedule. I'm used to going to bed at 11pm, waking up at 6am, and going running around 6:30am. Now I go to bed whenever, wake up at 7:30am, and go running at 8. I miss my old 6:30 runners. Who are these 8 o'clock people?

The 6:30 people were the office people with schedules like mine, or old people who got up at sunrise. The blonde girl whose body I coveted, the Iranian women who walked together, the old African-American guy in his sailor hat who always said hi. These were my peeps. I miss them. The 8'oclock people are the unemployed or the bosses who don't go to work until 10 am. I guess. Actually, it's tough to tell who they are. There's the handsome 40ish couple who run together; they look like they could/should be employed. Why are they running so late? And the Korean guys playing badminton - what's their story?

There is this one guy I just loathe. He jogs with his shirt off, and he hugs the inside of the track, going counter-clockwise. Hello? You don't hug the inside of the track when you're going counter-clockwise. That is not proper etiquette. So here I am, running clockwise on the track (4 laps counter, 4 laps clock) and I see this a-hole heading towards me, so I sort of drift to the side. Not too much, because I don't want to get in the way of a mom with her stroller. And this guy doesn't bother looking up or making any plans to pay attention. (No headphone-wearing excuse either.) So I'm doing the drifting dance, and he's plowing ahead. I had to stop to avoid running into him and the mom. I was irked.

The next day, there he is again. Plowing ahead running counter-clockwise, hugging the inside. FAIL. Again, I had to stop so I could get out of his way. But this time the guy has the nerve to bark out, "Holy fuck, I'm just trying to run here."

Excuse me? You're just trying to run, guy? Well guess what? We follow the proper track etiquette here, turd. No hugging the inside. You've got to pay attention. You don't own the track. We're all on it and you have to make room. And for the love of god, don't yell at me in the morning. I'm just trying to work my stress out, stay in shape, and enjoy my funemployment. I certainly don't need you with that pathetic little crumb trapper on your chin cursing at me about trying to run. I'm trying to run too. I'm trying to run and trying to prove that I belong on this planet despite not having an office to go to. So stop mother fucking hugging the inside of the goddamn track.

I hate the 8 o'clock people.

Wood Factor (1 - 5): 1