Gym
Tripod film crews, weight hoarders, and the curl-rack cartel.
Apparently your gym membership now includes background acting.
This fucking guy turned leg day into a full production shoot.
He blocks half the aisle with a ring light, does four warm-up reps, and treats everyone nearby like they are ruining his documentary.
He believes gravity is a staff member.
This fucking guy never reracks weights and just walks away proud of himself.
He leaves a deadlift setup, two dumbbells, and an abandoned bench behind him like a toddler clearing out a toy chest.
He is not training. He is negotiating custody of the incline bench.
This fucking guy has occupied the same bench since the Obama administration.
Three sets in 45 minutes, 18 minutes on his phone, and a facial expression that says you are rude for asking how many he has left.
He saw a rack designed for squats and heard 'private curling studio.'
This fucking guy uses the squat rack for curls.
There are mirrors everywhere, but for some reason he chooses the one place everyone actually needs for compound lifts.
Gym pages work best when the offending move is obvious in one sentence and specific enough that a stranger can picture the whole scene immediately.