The Speech

Dan had been paying for a gym he never went to. Twelve dollars a month, for eight months. He’d done the math once, then tried to forget it.

So on Sunday morning, at his kitchen table, he wrote down what he would say. He practiced it twice. He’d be firm but polite. He’d explain that he’d moved, that the gym was too far now, that he just didn’t have the time. If they pushed back, he had his answers ready.

He took a sip of his coffee, read the script one more time, and called.

“Thanks for calling FitZone, this is Carla.”

“Hi,” Dan said. “I’d like to cancel my membership, please.”

“Sure. Can I get your name?”

He gave it, and waited for the catch.

“Okay, you’re all set,” she said. “Your membership ends today. Anything else?”

Dan looked at his notes — half a page of careful arguments, and he hadn’t used a single one.

“No,” he said. “That was easier than I expected.”

“Happens a lot,” Carla said. “Have a good one.”

He hung up. The coffee was still warm. All that worry, for a thirty-second call.