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 Wall Of ShamePosted 06.11.2003 by Dayna DeVayga (11)
I won a free session at an urban climbing gym in Houston and went down there on Saturday to take my lesson. I had no climbing clothes, so I wore a pair of white tennis shorts and a blue top. My assigned trainer was a buzz cut mountainhead named "Gunther." Gunther wore skin-tight Speedo-like pants and a shirt that said "call me Helmut." I have no idea what that meant. Perhaps it was on backwards. Does "Tumleh em llac" mean anything in German?
I was desperately looking around to see if there were any other guides available. I always get stuck with socie-wackos with odd names. Golf pros named Sven, bosses named speedy, accountants named Bucky, and now Gunther. Not only that, I could see Gunther's tattoo on his neck -- which was a picture of one of the Milli Vanilli's! Gunther strapped me into the harness and hooked me up to some rope that swung from the rafters. This thing kept tension so that no matter how soon you slipped off the wall, it held you suspended in mid air. I began climbing the wall. About four pretend stones up I farted because the harness was digging into my sphincter. Gunther laughed. "Yah, zet alvees hoppens first time!" he bellowed. My face burned a bright crimson and I hoped the white shorts could hold out. I continued climbing the wall and did surprisingly well, but about halfway up it occurred to me that a broccoli and tuna steam sauna was beckoning at the backdoor. Like a cornered weasel I considered playing dead and asking to return to the floor so I could unload the gunwale. I decided to open the stop valve a bit and let a little steam by... but what happened after that cannot be forgotten. The harness somehow prevented me from controlling the steam valve and a showering of meteors hurled out of my exhaust pipe. Gunther blinked. "That never happen before," he exclaimed. A small group of Gap rejects were gathered underneath me now. "I let down now," Gunther hollered, and he snared the rope in such a fashion that the pulley froze and now I was stuck in more ways than one. The leather straps were digging into my inflamed carcass and I felt another blast of java about to shower the Gap rejects. The desire to press my burro pies together was impossible because the pressure was unbearable. Gunther was furiously fumbling at the rope, trying to dislodge this flying crapese artist. "Need to get victim down and into labatory," he said. That had an ominous overtone that I had no intention of exploring. Finally the gang got me down and unstrapped. I wish I'd worn another outfit but hardly cared at that time. I walked toward the door. My climbing lesson lasted about four minutes, three humiliations, one pair of shorts, and a ruined day. Before I walked out the door I turned back to Gunther and yammered, "Sprechen ze Helmut!" I have no idea why I said that but it was the only way of salvaging any dignity. Post new comment
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