Hey, guy: I was watching that rerun of Seinfeld at the gym. I purposely picked that cluster of Stairmasters where girls can watch VH1 countdowns and Just Shoot Me without a lot of hassle from the meatheads. Even though the football game you wanted to watch was on four other monitors, you apparently really needed that special Stairmaster right in front of me, and without even looking at the group of girls and the guy with the dance belt behind you, changed the channel in the middle of the one where Jerry dates his look-alike. I know, it's not much, but if I have to make it through 500 calories I want to watch old sitcoms and not a bunch of arrested-development-steroid-users fighting over a little piece of ass—I get enough of that at work. And why are you carrying around fake files like you are some important investment banker? Those guys have a Blackberry, hon, not little baby Spirit cell phones and piles of sorry-ass file folders like the ones you pretended to analyze as you half-watched the football game for exactly seven minutes before leaving, forcing me to stop my workout to go get the remote or suffer through a million Old Spice commercials starring centaurs. (Is that ad about fucking animals, or getting fucked like animals, or fucking like animals?)—Anonymous