It all began when I decided to visit the gym after having a hard time squeezing into my favourite jeans.
“Just take a look at you, Bisola,” I said to myself, looking in the mirror. “Is this what you want to be in life?”
I’ve always tried home workouts, but they don’t just work for me – zero drive. I needed that zeal you’d find in the gym. I remembered my friend Thelma’s theory, “Even if you don’t want to work out, just go and join your mates there. You’ll burn some calories just by watching others work out.”
The next day, I dressed up in my cutest workout two-piece, followed by a fresh spritz of my favorite body spray. I have a fragrance for every occasion; church, club, work, grocery shopping etc. Don’t blame me – I’m a baby girl that loves her fragrances. I was all set to hit the gym, ready to sweat it out and maybe even find… you know.
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The gym’s car pack was full when I arrived, but I managed to find somewhere to park with the help of the security guy. Then, I walked to the front desk, paid one-month membership, and headed upstairs to start with the treadmill. But as soon as I walked into the space, my nostrils were hit with a scent so vile it made me stumble. It was a cocktail of sweat, musk, and unwashed gym socks that had been marinating in a forgotten gym bag for weeks. I almost took to my heels and bolted out the door, but I’d just paid an outrageous amount to be there.
I headed to the treadmill, hoping the smell would dissipate once I started running. Wrong. The more I ran, the deeper I inhaled, and the more I regretted every life decision that had led me to the gym. I thought about the pot of Afang soup I would have made with that money I’d just paid. Or the Chinese I would have ordered. Instead, I chose torment. I chose to subject myself to hours of torture. I decided to use my money to pay for trouble.
Just when I thought I was coping, you know, taking my mind off it, a man who had clearly never heard of deodorant walked over to the air conditioner. He positioned himself directly in front of it, arms stretched wide, letting the cool breeze blow through his sweaty, smelly armpits. The stench wafted across the gym like a toxic cloud, making everyone gag. I froze mid-stride, eyes watering, and considered fainting for dramatic effect.
I barely survived the session, dodging whiffs of stinky fitfams and trying to breathe through my mouth without looking like a fish out of water. When I couldn’t hold it anymore, I staggered out of the gym, clutching my chest like I’d just escaped a war zone.
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That afternoon, as I soaked in a tub filled with my perfumed shower gel, I hatched a plan. Tomorrow, I’d return to the gym, but I’d be ready this time.
I logged onto konga.com and ordered different brands of body sprays and antiperspirants – Nivea, Storm, Riggs. It was delivered same day to my house.
The following day, I stormed into the gym, a duffel bag full of body sprays and deodorants slung over my shoulder. I didn’t even warm up—I didn’t need to—I just started handing out body sprays left and right.
“Hi, today is my birthday, and I’m a Konga Ambassador. They sent me cartons of body sprays I can’t even finish in one years, so I decided to bring some here. I hope you don’t mind,” I said to a group of guys doing push-ups.
“Happy birthday,” they said, smiling and collecting their body sprays.
“I thought Konga was an e-commerce company. Do they now make fragrances?” One busy-body guy asked.
“They’re E-commerce. You can order anything from them – body sprays, phone, laptops, groceries, anything. But my contract with them gets me anything I want.”
In a few minutes, I’d handed out nearly all my cans. As I gave them the cans, I told them to try it out, and they innocently did. The gym was starting to smell like a tropical paradise in no time, and I finally felt at peace. My work was done.
After my workout, the air-conditioned guy approached me as I was leaving the gym. “Thanks for the body spray,” he said. “It smells so good.”
I smiled proudly. “You’re welcome.”
My name is Kennedy.
“Bisola.”
“Bisola, can I maybe get your num…”
“Maybe some other time,” I cut in, smiling and walking to the door.
“Happy Birthday once again,” he said.
“Same to… Thank you.”
“Abeg oo, one day at a time,” I muttered, entering my car.
