The Blogging Affairs Desk

It’s gotten to the point now where I’m officially hooked on Cake, and that any divergence from taking this protein shake has severe consequences for me, such as aches, soreness, muscle spasms, and increased appetite.

As a product of this, once a month I have to go down to the local GNC and get my month’s supply of Cake, as well as a thermogenic that I’ve recently started taking to supplement my workouts.  This is where the trouble tends to start.

If anyone works for GNC who’s reading this, maybe you can answer this question:  Why is it every time I walk in the door, I feel like I’m getting raped by you people?  Seriously.

The sales staff at General Nutrition Centers are like, trained to make you feel like a total asshole if you don’t go and buy the most expensive product they sell.  At first I thought it was just the particular GNC I was going to, where the kid behind the counter would always ask me “so, uh, what kinds of vitamins are you taking” as I was cashing out.  I don’t take vitamins; I don’t see a need to, yet, at least.  I just want to be a regular customer and pick up the shit I want, pay, and leave.  I don’t want to be asked questions and be forced to think on my feet.

“Uh, I don’t take a vitamin,” was the wrong answer to give.  The kid, with freakishly long hair and with the voice of a stoner goes on to tell me how I can really ‘get this stuff to work’ for me if I supplement it with the new GNC Vita-Paks, which are individually sealed packets of B12s and 11s and Cod Oils and all sorts of wild shit I know nothing about.  The only thing I do know about them is that for a month supply (which is apparently the minimum required to buy for the shit to “really” work) is 60 bucks.

Obviously, I pass, say no thanks and swipe my card.

“Ok man, its up to you,” the hippie behind the counter says dismissively as if I’m not really that committed to improving my body, etc.  Forget for a second the fact that I’m running between ten and twelve miles a week, working out in a gym at least three to four times a week, and eating nothing but protein shakes and “good foods” now.  Now I feel like an asshole despite the fact that I have rippling abs and I’m cut like an underwear model.

So after a few instances of this go-a-round, plus a move to a town further away and closer to a different GNC, I decide to try a different location, maybe this hairy dick is just a poor customer service rep for the company?  Let’s find out.

No.  No, now that I’ve been to two separate GNCs, it’s likely that somewhere in the company’s SOP or charter or something, it says that employees are required to stalk customers around the store, asking a bunch of questions that make the customer uncomfortable.  Motherfucker.

Son of a bitch.

I walk into the ‘new’ GNC and am greeted by the wife of a guy I work with.  I find the humor or irony, whichever, that I only recognize her from Facebook photos and not from personal interaction.  I introduce myself and tell her I work with her husband.  She laughs and we chitchat about the particular person and I go on about getting my Cake mix, thinking that yes, I can shop in peace!

Nope.

She haunts me like the disembodied spirit of workouts past.  Over my shoulder the whole time, asking me a bunch of questions about my diet and work out.  When I pick up my canister of Cake she instructs me that if I want to really optimize my protein potential, I should go with this product, over here…. A shitty tasting Soy Protein shake.

Followed by “all the Cape League players come in here and use this,” a plug for the local college-aged semi-pro baseball league we have on Cape.

I don’t know if it was because I wanted to be polite and couldn’t say no, or what, but I bought the inferior product, and it’s still sitting, barely used in our kitchen as a tombstone to caving to bad customer service, and poor choices.

I vowed never to go back to a GNC ever again.

Now I order online, which is actually kind of convenient; what I’m spending on shipping, I’m saving on gas.  I know I’m not supporting “local business” but I don’t care since these guys can’t get their shit together enough to provide me with some simple customer service, ie, let me walk in, get what I want without a fucking hassle, pay and leave.  Maybe a smile thrown in there for good measure, a comment on the weather, whatever.  Let’s keep it at that, and all move on amicably.

I may be the customer, but I sure as hell don’t like being sold on any anything.