Who had time to go to the gym anymore? He certainly didn’t, but that fact didn’t exactly make him feel much better about the reflection in the mirror. Jerry had hit thirty a few years ago and that had been fine, aside from some mild existential angst which had gone away, but it was looking like forty was going to be the real hurdle. Work had always been the focal point of Jerry’s life, and with his youthful metabolism he’d always been able to keep his slender figure as well–but that was changing, and he knew there was nothing he could do about it…aside from maybe getting a gym membership. But who in the hell had time? He gripped his small belly, pinching the fat with his hands, and frowned, thinking of all the older upper level managers with their guts and their drinks after work and their stupid, unfunny jokes he forced himself to laugh at even after hearing them often enough to have them memorized. That would be him. That was going to be him, if he didn’t do something about it, but what could he do?
Like most people with a dream and too little time to invest in it, he started looking for shortcuts. Try a fad diet? He picked out a couple, but he knew none of them would deliver any sort of lasting results. He did end up getting a gym membership, but aside from a few introductory sessions with a trainer, he could never quite line up a schedule to go consistently. All, the while, we watched his body round out a little more each day. Just was he was working up the mental will to resign himself to a rotund fate, he found something new, something called “The Ideal Body Program.”
It seemed simple enough. All he had to do was put in information about himself and his current habits and lifestyle, and then give some details regarding what kind of body he would like to have, and the program’s algorithm would generate the perfect diet and exercise program for him, tailored both to his current lifestyle and the body of his dreams. It seemed like a dream come true, and the questionnaires were free to fill out–if exceedingly detailed. He’d thought some of the dating websites he’d signed up for had been painful–this was something else entirely. It took him nearly an entire weekend to finish all of the questions in all the required detail, but it would be worth it, right? All this work in the front end would mean he could finally have a solution to his problem.
But what was his ideal body? He’d always been on the slender side, and the idea of being like those fat older men disgusted him, but what did he really want to be? Truthfully, he’d always sort of wished he could be more muscular. He’d always…idolized those jocks back in school, who could work out, that sort of…powerlifter body. He’d dated a few, and by and large they had been boring, dull souls, but fuck, they’d been sexy as hell in bed, even if he hadn’t managed a relationship with any of them. But that’s what he wanted, he wanted to look like that. Big arms, wide chest, thick tree trunk legs. Sure, he’d have to buy all new suits–hell, a new wardrobe, but it was an ideal body right? Why not indulge in a little fantasy?
The forms were finished, he double checked them all and submitted them for processing. It took around an hour for a confirmation email to appear in his email inbox, alerting him to the fact that his personalized plan was prepared for him, but he discovered he wouldn’t be able to see the plan until he’d paid the full fees required–which turned out to be three years in advance, and at 100 dollars a month…well, that turned out to be quite a substantial sum of money. He thought about it for the rest of the day. There was no way he could spend that kind of money on this…but what did he really expect? Still, three years was a long time, but the company promised results. In fact, there was a guarantee that if the plan didn’t perfectly fit their schedule and give them their ideal body, they could have their money back. So…he did it. He put in his account information (the site refused to take credit cards) and hit submit, navigated through his site to his personal plan of action, and all it said was: “Quit your job. Once you have quit your job, further instruction will be given. Are you ready to quit your job?”
And below, a yes and no button.
It couldn’t be serious. He wasn’t going to quit his job! This was supposed to fit his schedule, not ruin it. He clicked the no button, and the screen was suddenly filled with a swirling, colorful patterns. He stared at it for a moment, his consciousness draining away, just focusing on the pattern. Every half hour, the sentence “Are you ready to quit your job?” would appear with another yes and no prompt–his hand would come alive for a moment, and he kept pressing no, but slowly, his hand lost its urgency. It began hovering over the yes button, until finally, at last, he clicked it, and the pattern evaporated, leaving Jerry blinking at his computer screen, unable to believe he’d just lost seven hours…but he had something he had to do. He called up his boss and told him he wouldn’t be coming in ever again, that he had to free up his schedule, that he wouldn’t understand. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t stop himself…and since he’d already prepaid for three years in hard cash, he didn’t think he’d be stopping himself any time soon.
Bracken's Corner 