I Won't Apologize For Caring

Tonight, in spin class, a man and I entered the room at the same time. We proceeded to walk towards the same bike at the same time. I attempted to be friendly and force an air of nonchalance into my voice: "Oh - bike 26? I think that's the one I signed up for." I didn't think this was the case - I knew it was. I made a conscious decision to sign my name in the box for bike 26.

He looked at me and paused. His beady little eyes squinted out a look of disdain, his nostrils flared, and a single eyebrow peaked into space generally reserved for forehead wrinkles. He motioned to the other bike. "Either one," he said, as he shrugged his shoulders, faking apathy about the eventual outcome of this conversation.

No. No it is not either one. My bike is bike 26. Carefully picked for its location and general ambiance. Don't try to make me feel like I care a little too much about what bike I'm getting. I care just enough. This is the way Monday night spin class works. You can't just go around being wrong.

He moved, by the way. And then he moved again. Turns out the other bike wasn't his either. And someone else cared just enough. Suckkaaaaa.