My male friends tell me there are certain etiquettes in the main gym (flexing your muscles in the mirror when no-one is looking is not to be encouraged, for one thing), but my area of expertise is The Studio. I love gym classes - I'm easily bullied, and will never walk out, so it's the best way for me to get a proper workout.
Go to any given class a few times, and you start to see how a bunch of strangers very quickly establish a pecking order, and an unspoken etiquette. Regulars have their particular spot, and are most irked if someone else is in it. Never mind if you've never done the class before, you should know better. Rule is you lurk at the back until you earn your own spot.
Regulars can also fall into the category of Fawners. They suck up to the teachers, always have a little chat with them at the beginning of class, a little laugh, maybe a hand on the arm (especially if the instructor is male) and then take their place at the front with a smug look on their faces.
But woe betide the substitute teachers, because Regulars are usually also Bullies. They'll give this poor substitute the stink-eye as they set up for the class, then loudly sigh and tut has they half-heartedly follow a routine that dares to be different from the usual. Quite often they will ostentatiously walk out half-way through. 'I gave him/her a chance,' their look says, 'but I'm not wasting my precious time on this.' Last week, however, the worm turned. A substitute teacher came in, through the snow and ice, with very little notice, to take the Monday morning circuits class. The usual suspects moaned and groaned and, worst of all, whispered to each other while shooting sideways glances at the teacher. Very mature - and every one of them over the age of 40. But this particular sub had clearly seen it all before. She politely but firmly told them to put up or shut up. One walked out, the rest meekly picked up their dumb bells. I gave a silent cheer.
While these tribes are universal, there are cultural differences. The New York breed are meaner, and more vocal. There are certain people who believe that money entitles them to perfect service, every time, no excuses. At the first gym I joined in NYC, there was a bunch I called The Harridans. They were there every day, and always did at least two classes back to back, but only half-heartedly, so they weren't any fitter than the rest of us. But they bitched and moaned about everything - the teachers, the facilities, other members. They sucked the joy out of everything. One day Chief Harridan complained to a woman who kept 'invading her personal space' during a class. The woman apologised, explained that she had very poor peripheral vision and needed to go where she could see the teacher. 'Well, I don't think this is the class for you, then,' Chief Harridan replied. Nice.
After I'd been going to the classes regularly for about a year, the Harridans decided I had served my probation and should be inducted into the ranks. They asked me my name, quizzed about my life ("What does your husband do? Where do your kids go to school? Summer rental in the Hamptons or no?), and decided I was acceptable. No more could I slide in to the back of the class and get on with my own thing. There was a spot saved for me at the front. So I did what any right minded person would do. I changed gyms.
