So yesterday, July 9, 2022, I went to this facility for a tour; I was considering joining. I'd…read morecalled several weeks ago to see if I'd need an appointment to tour, but I was told no, just come in when convenient. Great.
When I got there, at sometime around 3:30-ish, I went to the front desk, and asked the young man working there for a tour. He looked around, said he'd find "Jonathan" because "Ron" wasn't around, but he couldn't do the tour because he was alone at the desk at the moment, and after that there was "no overtime." He seemed rather merry about that; not sure why.
A few minutes later, a young woman had shown up, and did a (rather shrill) loudspeaker request for "Jonathan." I guess Ron (I think that was his name) was still unavailable.
Jonathan did show up; he was very personable. The time I spent with him was pleasant and he was rather amusing. The problem with him was that he could answer absolutely no questions about any room but the weight area, because that's where he works and that's what he knows.
Say what? Why would they waste my time giving me a tour led by a guy who can't answer any questions? The point of a tour is, for me, the prospective member, to see the facility and to ASK QUESTIONS.
Jonathan took me back to the front desk when he was done showing me around and told me that the young woman there (yes, Ms. Shrill) could answer questions for me, and off he went. Also standing at the front desk, on the side, was a somewhat rotund man with a pink Y shirt on and a name tag I couldn't read. Was this the missing Ron?
I'll never know.
So I had a copy of the class schedule, I'd seen the facility, and had no questions answered. I looked at Ms. Shrill and asked: Can you answer some questions for me? She replied: That depends on what you ask. She then dashed off to police some clean towels that a member was trying to take. All this time, Mr. Pink Shirt was standing there, leaning on the front desk, just looking around.
Some back story: A few years ago, I was in much better shape. I was doing four brutal classes per week at Orangetheory Fitness (in Orlando at East Colonial where the best head coach of all time, Sammy, kept me on track and motivated). My work schedule got too busy for me to continue, and then I eventually ended up moving to Spartanburg. During that time, I put on weight, and my mood darkened. I realized that I missed the physical activity and the camaraderie a great workout in a great class with great staff can give.
I had to ask myself: Am I going to find that at this YMCA?
I was hesitant to go back to OTF because I'm seriously out of shape. I was looking at the Y because of the pool, and I knew they offered some yoga classes. I thought easing back into exercise might be the best way to go.
Did I think I was going to find what I was looking for at this YMCA?
No. Other than a couple of lifeguards, Jonathan, Ms. Shrill, Mr. Pink Shirt, and no overtime guy, I saw no other staff. No classes were being taught, and there didn't appear to be any personal training going on. Basketball? Forget it. The (lazy) staff there allows extreme play, which isn't encouraging, or safe, for someone like me.
Nor did I see any cleaning going on. And that place needs some cleaning.
The barely controlled chaos in the general pool was off-putting. There was some kind of party going on in what I guess was the "spin" room, and when those awful kids exploded out of that room, they were loud, inconsiderate, and underfoot. Were there parents with them? Yes. Did their parents do anything to control their awful kids? No. And apparently there are no standards at the facility; the few staff members there showed no interest in asking parents to control their offspring.
We don't all love kids, and I for certain can't stand yelling, ill-behaved brats. Here's another thing: Kids don't belong everywhere. There should be a clear, and an enforced, policy about children.
Anyhow, as I stood there looking around, and pondering everything, I understood where I needed to be. And as I turned to walk through the lobby to leave, not a single member of the meager staff there said a word to me. Not Ms. Shrill, and not Mr. Pink Shirt (who was still taking up space by the front counter for no visible reason). No effort was made to ask me if I had additional questions and/or concerns; no one made the slightest effort to persuade me to give the place an extra look and a chance.
If that's all they're willing to do -- nothing -- when an opportunity to get me to join and spend there presents itself, how much more neglect will I face once they have my monthly fee?
I'm going back to Orangetheory, pronto. No, the one in Spartanburg won't have Sammy, and that makes me sad. But it's going to give me everything the much-bigger Y doesn't, but should.