Fuck you. No, no, truly. I would like to express to you, as well as the geniuses who run your organization, the extreme frustration that you’ve have caused me over the last five months. Were it not for the unbelievable yoga program (coupled with my gym crush on Marc McDonald), I would have packed my bags and headed back to Equinox. (Although, the snarling facade of my former trainer does keep me a safe distance.)
First of all, let’s have a quick chat about communication. As a veritable communications genius myself, I need to tell you the first and golden rule of marketing communications: communication. No. Fucking. Way. When you have something to relay to members of your internal or external audience, the most effective way to do that is to first and foremost do that. For example, if you consistently charge a members DEBIT CARD when you have explicitly told them that you will not be doing that, you should probably communicate to the accounting department that there has been an error. Don’t force said member to call sweet Donna from accounting and tell her all about how the Member Services people are backing over her with the proverbial bus. That’s just going to get nasty. And we know you wouldnt want that.
Communication is a dirty little word that actually entails two parts listening, one part engaging, and one part action. When you decide that your establishment is worth a sign up cost of nearly $1000 and then charge an additional $165 per month to the helpless beings to are forced to join your gym due to some unparalleled locational issues, you may want to consider showing them where some of that money goes. (And, I could be wrong, but I dont think it’s into your employee on boarding process, due to the fact that an employee misunderstanding led to my washing my body with MOUTHWASH last week. Funny, funny. If the shower amenities need subtitles, you’re going to have to suck it up and get on that. ) Could you explain to me, beloved Sports Club/LA how the weights in your fitness studio are so horrifying? I am quite certain that the free weights in prison are better taken care of than the bullshit that you supply. I dont think that walking those weights down Comm Ave like an imaginary puppy could cause them the damage that a bunch of cardio princesses have seemingly caused. I was at Target this weekend. They have weights. In case you’re having trouble finding them. Better yet, give Kristi DiScipio a ring over at Equinox and ask her for the magic method by which she keeps the weights so impeccable. Wait, what is that, Kristi? You have someone come in and take care of them? What does that even mean?
Sports Club/LA, it’s no secret that you have me by the downward dog. I’m forced to remain a member because the yoga studio is beyond compare. Wait, isn’t the yoga studio managed by someone different? How enlightening! I love George and Lily, Marc, Jen, Kelly, and Dave. I love seeing my gym buddies and buying an overpriced salmon lunch on Saturdays and talking about what a shithole the gym is. Did you know that, Sports Club/LA? The members actually sit in the cafe and commiserate about what a shithole the facilities are.
Lucky for you, a run in with Seal (singer and husband to “the Heidi”) on a treadmill last week was worth at least $75, and I’m willing to admit that the yoga and Dossas is worth at least another $75, so we’re square for April.
But here is the real kicker. The coup de grace. This incredible rant could have been entirely avoided if you’d just communicate.
Who in their right fucking mind cancels a yoga class on a Monday? A Monday, no less, where every person who comes to you after 6:00 PM is pissed to high hell about the fact that their company didn’t give them the fake Massachusetts holiday, Patriots Day. A day when everyone who comes in your doors is feeling particularly poor about themselves because they aren’t good enough to have run the 26.2 miles that the Kenyans did that morning. Who cancels yoga, on Marathon Monday, of Patriots Day, and doesnt tell anyone?
And dont fucking start with me about the sign. There are so many signs on that goddamn wellness desk that I wouldnt know if one of them told me that Jesus was teaching in the Fire Studio on Saturday.
Communication, Sports Club/LA, communication.
One thought on “dear sports club/la,”
though we neva gonna survive unless.. we get a little crazy
is what i would’ve been requesting seal to sing, while running (ok. slight jogging) next to him.