Saint Dirty Face

I swear I’m turning into that old guy.

Not because I’m yelling at clouds.

Because the clouds have Bluetooth speakers, six iPhones, and they’re sitting on the leg press.

My gym opens its doors to teenagers all summer for free.

Good.

Honestly, I’m glad they’re there.

I’d rather see kids in a gym than getting into trouble.

But somewhere along the way, we forgot what the gym is actually for.

Everywhere I look…

Four teenagers gathered around one machine.

Nobody lifting.

One taking selfies.

One scrolling TikTok.

One texting.

One filming the other three doing absolutely nothing.

Meanwhile, those of us whose knees sound like microwave popcorn are standing there wondering if we’ll ever get to use the machine before Social Security kicks in.

Here’s the crazy part.

They’re physically together…

…but mentally somewhere else.

The phone has become the main event.

Life has become the background.

Then came the moment.

I’m halfway through my workout when one kid walks up and asks,

“How much longer are you gonna be on that machine?”

Now…

I like to think I’ve matured.

Thirty years as a nurse teaches patience.

It teaches compassion.

It teaches restraint.

But for one brief second…

There was an old caveman voice in my head.

“Careful, son… I still know where the carotid artery is.”

Relax.

I didn’t say it.

I smiled.

Finished my set.

Moved on.

Because that’s what adults do.

But it got me thinking.

Maybe this isn’t really about gym etiquette.

Maybe it’s about attention.

This generation has never known a world where silence wasn’t filled by a notification.

Where every moment didn’t have to be photographed.

Where being bored forced you to actually think.

We used to meet our friends and actually talk.

Now people sit together…

…while texting someone who isn’t even there.

Technology isn’t the enemy.

Hell, I’m writing this on technology.

But somewhere along the road, we stopped using our phones…

…and started letting them use us.

Now if you’ll excuse me…

I need to go stretch.

Apparently sleeping wrong is considered a sports injury after fifty.

Stay Dirty.

Stay Dangerous.

And for the love of all that’s holy…

Get off the damn machine if you’re not using it.

Saint Dirty Face

⚠️ AI-generated image for satire and laughs.

No teenagers, barbells, or innocent phones were harmed in the making of this post. 😄

Now… if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to use the machine you’re sitting on.