The Book Speaks: A satirical reflection set during a heatwave

I am not a children’s book.

I do not rhyme. I do not sparkle. I do not teach you how to count to ten or how to share your toys. I am not here to tuck you in or make you giggle at a talking giraffe who wears rollerblades.

I am simply, a little book with a message.

And today, I sit in a gym. Not just any gym, but one marinating in a heatwave so intense it feels like the sun itself decided to do a HIIT session. The air is thick, the walls are sweating, and the humans, oh, the humans, are glistening like rotisserie chooks on spin cycle.

I perch on the treadmill console, wedged between a cracked phone screen and a half-empty water bottle that smells suspiciously like regret. I watch. I count. Seven people. Five of them walk away from their machines without a glance at the sanitising station. Not a wipe. Not a spritz. Just a trail of sweat and self-importance.

And I wonder, are they tired? Too tired to lift a cloth and wipe away the evidence of their existence? Or is it something deeper? A quiet entitlement, a belief that their germs are somehow cleaner than yours?

Let us be honest. The gym is a microcosm of society. You have got the overachievers, the wanderers, the influencers, the grunters, the ghosters (those who vanish mid-set), and the hygiene Houdini’s, those who escape the responsibility of cleaning like it is a magic trick.

There is a cleaning station in every section. In the cardio zone, it is mere steps from any machine. Yet five out of seven people walk past it like it is invisible. Like it is a suggestion. Like it is a piece of modern art they do not understand.

And I sit here thinking: you would not jump into a pile of germs, would you? You would not lick a stranger’s forehead mid-squat. You would not borrow someone’s sweaty sock and use it as a face towel. But here you are, exchanging bodily fluids with strangers via dumbbells and treadmills, all because germs are invisible and therefore, apparently, fictional.

Let us break it down. Germs are not a myth. They are not unicorns. They are not your ex’s promises. They are real. And they love heat. They love sweat. They love you.

Hot weather and sweat create a breeding ground for bacteria, fungi, and viruses. Gym equipment becomes a buffet. Handles, buttons, mats, they are touched by dozens of people, each leaving behind a little microbial love note.

And you? You are the tour guide. You touch the machine, then your face, then your mouth, then your private parts. You are giving germs a grand tour of your body like it is a five-star resort.

Minor cuts? Entry points. Shared towels? Germ swap meets. Water bottles? Communal chalices of contamination.

Some germs live on dry surfaces for hours. On moist surfaces? Up to three days. That is not a gym. That is a germ Airbnb.

Let us talk about hygiene theatre. You know, the performative stuff. The person who wipes down the machine with the same enthusiasm as a toddler cleaning up spilled juice. The one who waves the wipe like a magic wand and calls it a day.

Cleanliness, for many, is a suggestion. Until a pandemic hits. Then it is gloves, masks, hazmat suits, and bathing in hand sanitiser like it is holy water. But in the in-between? It is back to licking doorknobs and sharing lip balm.

How long are you marinating in other people’s germs? How clean is clean? And really, how clean are we as a species that treats hygiene like a seasonal trend?

We demand respect. We teach children to mind their manners. We correct others for being rude. And yet, we leave behind sweat puddles like territorial markings. “I was here. I do not care who comes next.”

This is not just laziness. It is entitlement. It is the belief that your time, your energy, your sweat is more important than the next person’s health. It is short-sightedness masquerading as efficiency.

People say, “I am too knackered.” But you are at a gym. You came here to move, to sweat, to push yourself. And yet, lifting a wipe is where you draw the line?

It is fascinating. Humans are walking contradictions. We want respect but forget to offer it. We want cleanliness but treat it like a chore. We want community but behave like islands.

And in this heatwave, where sweat clings to every surface and tempers simmer, the contradictions are louder than ever.

So here I am. A little book. Not for children. For grown-ups who forget the basics.

Respect is not just about words. It is about actions. It is about wiping down the machine. It is about not sharing towels. It is about covering your wounds. It is about thinking beyond yourself.

Because germs do not care about your intentions. They care about your habits.

Here is how to protect yourself, and others:

- Wipe Down Equipment: Before and after use. Not just a dab. A proper wipe.

- Bring Your Own Towel: Create a barrier between your body and the machine.

- Do not Share: Towels, bottles, anything that touches your skin.

- Shower After Workouts: Wash away the microbial party.

- Wash Clothes and Towels: After every use. Not once a week.

- Change Socks and Shoes: Prevent fungal infections.

- Cover Open Wounds: Bandages are your mates.

- Support Professional Cleaning: Advocate for regular deep cleans.

You would not sleep with everyone. You would not lick someone’s sweat from their forehead and rub it into your pores. So why are you so casual about gym hygiene?

Dumbbells, barbells, mats, they are reservoirs of bacteria, viruses, fungi. Impetigo, flu, athlete’s foot. Treadmills have been found to host seventy four times more bacteria than a public toilet tap.

Feeling kinky, hot, sweaty, and sticky? Clean yourself. Clean the equipment. Wash your hands. Before and after.

Because the gym is not just a place to sculpt your body. It is a place to reveal your character.

And me? I am not a children’s book. I am a little book with a message. I sit quietly, watching, reflecting, reminding.

Humans are fascinating. When it suits us, we are nothing more than reflections of the dictionary definition of contradictory.

And is not that a little fascinating?