The New Used Car Salesmen?
February 26th, 2008Tell me if this sounds familiar:
I am minding my own business when the mail comes and I find a flyer offering me a 14-day trial membership at a gym. I think, “Hey, maybe this would be good for me. I am starting to look that kid from INTO THE WILD after he eats those berries. Plus, the endorphins might give me a little more energy.” So I decided to take them up on their offer.


(My goal weight)
I enter the gym, hand the man at the front desk my flyer and ask about the 14-day trial membership. He hands me a form asking for all types of information, like name, address, how I heard about this, favorite color, favorite baby animal, etc. Then he tells me to hold on. He needs to speak to the manager.
Five minutes later, the manager, let’s call him Al, comes to the front desk, drinking a Muscle Milk. He has a oiled pony tail and tribal tattoo on his arm. He offers to give me a tour of the place: freeweights, machines, cardio. Nothing too revolutionary here. But then the sales pitch starts.
“You ever been to a gym before?”
“Yes,” I respond, feeling about as good as the day when my mom tried to cheer me up in high school by telling me that I had nice glasses and braces. I then tell him that I used to work out but stopped for a bit.
He snickers a little and invites me back to his desk. We sit down, and immediately another manager type with a BIC-ed head and shaved arms comes rolling over in his chair.
“I run this place. You’re gonna want to get to know me,” he says. He then rolls his chair back over to his desk.
Al pulls out a binder full of promotional material about the club, showing me maps of the local facilities and hours of operation, etc. I ask him to see a list of their monthly prices. They don’t have a list. It’s the type of place where the prices are all “for you” (ie, “For you, because you look like a nice guy, I can let it go for $100, etc…” This pricing model is also used on used car lots, swap meets, and mafia contracting jobs. And in national heath club chains.
He tells me that it will be $34.99 per month to use the gym, along with about $130 in initiation fees.
I tell Alex that I appreciate his help, but I first want to work out at least once before making a decision.
He stares at me for a second and then says, “Okay, I can knock off $30 off your initiation fees. For you.”
I tell Alex that I appreciate his help, but I first want to work out at least once before making a decision.
He asks me if I am a student. I tell him no. I am not a student. He then asks me if I was just a student. I tell him no, I am not a student. I graduated three years ago. It’s flattering for a girl to mistaken for a college student, but not for guys. When I picture myself in college — the failed facial hair experiments, concave chest, oversized t-shirts — I cringe. My self-esteem is beginning to wane and I think I want to take a nap now. The hell with this work out.
Alex tells me he can give me the student discount.
“Thanks. But I’m not really ready to sign up just yet. I want to at least test out my trial membership.”
“So you’re saying that the price doesn’t matter to you if you like the gym?”
“No. The price matters. I’m just not ready to make a decision just yet.”
“How many times do you think you’ll work out in the next 2 weeks?”
I tell him I’m not sure. “Maybe 5,” I guess. He chuckles.
“Well, the rates will probably change next month. You can lock in a rate right now.” I’m signing up for a gym, not an adjustable rate mortgage. I’m pretty sure that the gym’s rates — all of which are unpublished and “for you” priced — will be similar.
“No thanks. I would just like to work out today.”
“Okay,” he shakes my hand and offers me his card. “I’ll call you later this week to check in.”
Approximately 35 minutes after stepping foot in the gym, I am ready to work out. On the first machine — a rowing machine — I somehow manage to get my shirt caught on the handle and the sleeve of my t-shirt rips off. I didn’t make it to a second exercise.
Perhaps, I’m being too harsh. After all, I knew that the trial membership is a sales tool to get new leads into the gym. But it seems to me that a gym will sell itself; you either like it or you don’t. There is no need for the boiler-room tactics that make casual exercisers uncomfortable. Plus, now that I know the prices are so flexible, I can’t help but think that any rate I lock in will be higher than others.






