Don’t Mess with My Class

“Either come in or get out but don’t mess with my class”, she says pointedly while staring at the set of weights on the floor.
The music has started.
I am pushing my luck.
I motion for the person I am seeking to come to the door.
I feel like Daniel at the Lion’s Den and I am not talking night club.
I silently ask for Divine protection.
I would not dare to step into the room unless I had serious intentions of attending the class or ending up in the Emergency Department.
The lady I want to talk to dashes to the door.
The music is still in the first stanza and not too many notes have played.
“Be careful, your front tires are bald”.
I relayed what I thought might be an important safety message to this single lady.
“I know; I need to get new tires.”
I am abashed.
What started as a mission of “help” turns out to be redundant information.
She runs back to her place in the room and I turn away to go into the gym.
The hair on the back of my neck stands down.
I was deceived by preconceived notions of gender.
I automatically assumed ladies would not notice bald tires and would keep driving at 70 or even 80 miles an hour risking life and limb.
I know this lady drives with a heavy foot.
She has passed me and I try to run at the upper limit.
I guess she is one with her car and senses the health of her tires.
So there it is, don’t assume what you don’t know.
Just rest assured that all things will ultimately align in the universe.
Energy and matter will neither be created nor destroyed.
And: Sparta will never want you “messing with her class”.