Chapter 3: Welcome to Diet Club
Gene and his parents arrived at the "Diet Club" weight loss center. It was laid out just like a doctor's office, complete with waiting room. And, as with all waiting rooms, there was a general feeling that something dire was about to happen. Before long, a tallish blonde in a white nurse's uniform greeted the Rothmans.
"Welcome to Diet Club," she said with a smile. "I'm Lyn, the registered nurse, dietitian, and organizer of support groups and interventions. I take it that this young man is your son, and you want to sign him up for our program?"
"Yes, that's correct," Molly replied. "Money is no object, and we're prepared to pay any amount of money so that Gene here can become a slim, productive, and normal member of society."
"Very well. I guess you won't have a problem with our annual rate of 100,000 fallons, then? This covers the life management classes and documents, and a year's supply of both our special Italian salad dressing, and our exclusive 'Vitaciser' weight loss capsules with 100% ADAR-approved natural herbal extracts. And results are guaranteed; I've had one client who lost half of her entire weight in three weeks!"
"Can't go wrong with that!" followed Desmond. "Consider it done!"
"So, Nurse Lyn, could you explain the basic rules of this program?" Gene asked.
"Well, the first rule of Diet Club is, you have to follow a strict diet of three all-vegetable salads a day. No cheese, no croutons. And it is imperative that you use our Italian dressing on these salads in order for weight loss to occur."
Gene entered Diet Club expecting the worst, but even he was not prepared for a lifestyle change of this magnitude. He had never eaten a salad before in his life, and now he was being forced to live on them for who knows how long.
"And how long am I supposed to subsist on nothing but salads?"
"Quiet, you!" Molly hissed. "You make it sound like it's a bad thing!"
"It's not?" blurted Gene without thinking of the consequences.
"I see we have a comedian in our midst, Mr. and Mrs. Rothman." From the first words Lyn heard Gene utter, she found his flippant defiance of authority simply appalling. Gene knew that under Lyn's perky, fresh-out-of-med-school exterior, there lied the heart of a fiend. And he knew this from experience; he has met more than his share of fiends.
"I'm afraid so, he's a regular John Belushi," Desmond sighed.
Gene and Lyn looked at each other with confused looks in their eyes. At that moment, they had discovered their only similarity: they didn't know who John Belushi was. Perhaps if Desmond had referred to Chris Farley or Horatio Sanz instead...
Lyn then realized she had strayed from her original subject, and switched to a more business-like tone. "The easy answer to your question, Gene, would be to restrict your diet to salads until you find yourself losing substantial amounts of weight. But there is a possibility you'd gain it all back, and more, if you go back to your old diet at this point. That's what the 'Vitaciser' pills are for. Take three before each meal, and they'll aid in the fat burning process while greatly reducing your cravings for non-salad foods. Understand now?"
"Probably not," Gene's parents said in unison. Desmond continued, "His performance in school is so deficient, it's a wonder he graduated from kindergarten."
Molly chimed in. "But that doesn't mean he won't follow your rules, Lyn. With model parents like Desmond and I, you can rest assured that your rules..."
She turned to her son with a stern gaze that would probably turn Medusa to stone.
"...WILL be enforced."
"It's t-true, Nurse Lyn," Gene stuttered, his forehead dripping with beads of sweat. "Th-they're lawyers, s-so they're f-familiar w-w-with all the l-loopholes in ch-child abuse laws."
Desmond muttered something about John Belushi.
Because of Lyn's orders, the situation at the Rothmans' kitchen had never been worse for Gene. Desmond and Molly had bought a mini-fridge full of various salad greens and Diet Club dressing, while putting a combination lock on their own refrigerator, which was stocked with more appetizing fare. And if that wasn't enough, whenever Gene entered the vicinity of the kitchen, he was required to have at least one of his parents follow him at a distance of less than ten feet. They could not trust him at all.
"Now take the pills that the nice lady gave you. They'll help turn you into a good boy, yes they will!" Molly almost sang. She was in an uncharacteristically vivacious mood, ecstatic that her youngest son was about to take the first steps toward being everything she wanted in a child. Intelligent, obedient, and slender. For so many years, she felt resentment and disappointment toward Gene, but for probably the first time in her life, she was optimistic about him.
Gene knew this about her, but he didn't think it was necessary for her to address him like a dog or a two-year-old, though.
"Now put the dressing on the salad. Not too much! That's a good boy. Remember to chew each bite at least 30 times! Chew, chew, chew..."
Gene could not take this much longer. He choked down a fibrous mass of tasteless vegetable matter, seasoned with what he believed was acidic bile mislabeled as Italian dressing. After a rather audible gulp, he lashed out. "Mother! I realize that for a change, you're actually proud of me, and you maybe even LOVE me, because I finally broke down and yielded to your twisted wishes. But this dog-trainer act is getting really old, really fast! So... *urk*..."
Before Gene could say another word, he jumped out of his chair, ran to the bathroom in the front hall, and slammed the door. For the next five or six minutes, Gene's body desperately tried to rid itself (from both ends) of this strange new food. After the digestive chaos ended, Gene started feeling weak and dizzy, and he eventually blacked out.
Gene was awakened by a knock on the bathroom door, accompanied by his father calling to him from the other side.
"Gene? You okay, sport? You've been in there for almost two hours!"
It took about a second for Gene's mind to piece together what just happened. He caught his breath and yelled, "I'm all right!"
"Great. I just wanted to tell you that your mother and I are going to leave for a couple of hours, to attend one of our lawyer friends' retirement parties. If anyone calls while we're out, let the machine get it."
"Right, Dad!"
"And don't go on the computer or play any video games while we're away. Oh, wait, that's right! You can't! Mwahahahahahahahaha!"
Gene groaned, remembering how his computer and PlayStation were permanently taken from him because of his low grades. He wondered why Desmond had to rub it in, though.
"Bye, dear!" Gene heard his recently jubilant mother from outside. Her voice triggered memories in Gene of better times in the past, back before he had started school and nothing was expected of him, so there were no ill feelings surrounding him. Gene longed for those days...
As Gene heard his parents' car zoom out of the driveway, he noticed something new about himself; his blue clamkicker jeans were quite a bit looser. Feeling faint with hunger, he decided to take advantage of this parent-less situation and walk over to Murray's Deli for some true Manhasset cuisine.
Gene and his parents arrived at the "Diet Club" weight loss center. It was laid out just like a doctor's office, complete with waiting room. And, as with all waiting rooms, there was a general feeling that something dire was about to happen. Before long, a tallish blonde in a white nurse's uniform greeted the Rothmans.
"Welcome to Diet Club," she said with a smile. "I'm Lyn, the registered nurse, dietitian, and organizer of support groups and interventions. I take it that this young man is your son, and you want to sign him up for our program?"
"Yes, that's correct," Molly replied. "Money is no object, and we're prepared to pay any amount of money so that Gene here can become a slim, productive, and normal member of society."
"Very well. I guess you won't have a problem with our annual rate of 100,000 fallons, then? This covers the life management classes and documents, and a year's supply of both our special Italian salad dressing, and our exclusive 'Vitaciser' weight loss capsules with 100% ADAR-approved natural herbal extracts. And results are guaranteed; I've had one client who lost half of her entire weight in three weeks!"
"Can't go wrong with that!" followed Desmond. "Consider it done!"
"So, Nurse Lyn, could you explain the basic rules of this program?" Gene asked.
"Well, the first rule of Diet Club is, you have to follow a strict diet of three all-vegetable salads a day. No cheese, no croutons. And it is imperative that you use our Italian dressing on these salads in order for weight loss to occur."
Gene entered Diet Club expecting the worst, but even he was not prepared for a lifestyle change of this magnitude. He had never eaten a salad before in his life, and now he was being forced to live on them for who knows how long.
"And how long am I supposed to subsist on nothing but salads?"
"Quiet, you!" Molly hissed. "You make it sound like it's a bad thing!"
"It's not?" blurted Gene without thinking of the consequences.
"I see we have a comedian in our midst, Mr. and Mrs. Rothman." From the first words Lyn heard Gene utter, she found his flippant defiance of authority simply appalling. Gene knew that under Lyn's perky, fresh-out-of-med-school exterior, there lied the heart of a fiend. And he knew this from experience; he has met more than his share of fiends.
"I'm afraid so, he's a regular John Belushi," Desmond sighed.
Gene and Lyn looked at each other with confused looks in their eyes. At that moment, they had discovered their only similarity: they didn't know who John Belushi was. Perhaps if Desmond had referred to Chris Farley or Horatio Sanz instead...
Lyn then realized she had strayed from her original subject, and switched to a more business-like tone. "The easy answer to your question, Gene, would be to restrict your diet to salads until you find yourself losing substantial amounts of weight. But there is a possibility you'd gain it all back, and more, if you go back to your old diet at this point. That's what the 'Vitaciser' pills are for. Take three before each meal, and they'll aid in the fat burning process while greatly reducing your cravings for non-salad foods. Understand now?"
"Probably not," Gene's parents said in unison. Desmond continued, "His performance in school is so deficient, it's a wonder he graduated from kindergarten."
Molly chimed in. "But that doesn't mean he won't follow your rules, Lyn. With model parents like Desmond and I, you can rest assured that your rules..."
She turned to her son with a stern gaze that would probably turn Medusa to stone.
"...WILL be enforced."
"It's t-true, Nurse Lyn," Gene stuttered, his forehead dripping with beads of sweat. "Th-they're lawyers, s-so they're f-familiar w-w-with all the l-loopholes in ch-child abuse laws."
Desmond muttered something about John Belushi.
Because of Lyn's orders, the situation at the Rothmans' kitchen had never been worse for Gene. Desmond and Molly had bought a mini-fridge full of various salad greens and Diet Club dressing, while putting a combination lock on their own refrigerator, which was stocked with more appetizing fare. And if that wasn't enough, whenever Gene entered the vicinity of the kitchen, he was required to have at least one of his parents follow him at a distance of less than ten feet. They could not trust him at all.
"Now take the pills that the nice lady gave you. They'll help turn you into a good boy, yes they will!" Molly almost sang. She was in an uncharacteristically vivacious mood, ecstatic that her youngest son was about to take the first steps toward being everything she wanted in a child. Intelligent, obedient, and slender. For so many years, she felt resentment and disappointment toward Gene, but for probably the first time in her life, she was optimistic about him.
Gene knew this about her, but he didn't think it was necessary for her to address him like a dog or a two-year-old, though.
"Now put the dressing on the salad. Not too much! That's a good boy. Remember to chew each bite at least 30 times! Chew, chew, chew..."
Gene could not take this much longer. He choked down a fibrous mass of tasteless vegetable matter, seasoned with what he believed was acidic bile mislabeled as Italian dressing. After a rather audible gulp, he lashed out. "Mother! I realize that for a change, you're actually proud of me, and you maybe even LOVE me, because I finally broke down and yielded to your twisted wishes. But this dog-trainer act is getting really old, really fast! So... *urk*..."
Before Gene could say another word, he jumped out of his chair, ran to the bathroom in the front hall, and slammed the door. For the next five or six minutes, Gene's body desperately tried to rid itself (from both ends) of this strange new food. After the digestive chaos ended, Gene started feeling weak and dizzy, and he eventually blacked out.
Gene was awakened by a knock on the bathroom door, accompanied by his father calling to him from the other side.
"Gene? You okay, sport? You've been in there for almost two hours!"
It took about a second for Gene's mind to piece together what just happened. He caught his breath and yelled, "I'm all right!"
"Great. I just wanted to tell you that your mother and I are going to leave for a couple of hours, to attend one of our lawyer friends' retirement parties. If anyone calls while we're out, let the machine get it."
"Right, Dad!"
"And don't go on the computer or play any video games while we're away. Oh, wait, that's right! You can't! Mwahahahahahahahaha!"
Gene groaned, remembering how his computer and PlayStation were permanently taken from him because of his low grades. He wondered why Desmond had to rub it in, though.
"Bye, dear!" Gene heard his recently jubilant mother from outside. Her voice triggered memories in Gene of better times in the past, back before he had started school and nothing was expected of him, so there were no ill feelings surrounding him. Gene longed for those days...
As Gene heard his parents' car zoom out of the driveway, he noticed something new about himself; his blue clamkicker jeans were quite a bit looser. Feeling faint with hunger, he decided to take advantage of this parent-less situation and walk over to Murray's Deli for some true Manhasset cuisine.
