Her pants are destroyed

“Almost… got it…” Rhonda grunted. She gave a mighty heave.

But then, the worst sound that Jenn could imagine rang throughout the gym.

rrrriiip!

Rhonda straightened, triumphant, holding up what used to be Jenn’s pants, now two sad pieces of fabric dangling in either hand.

“There we go,” Rhonda said matter-of-factly. “Freed them.”

Jenn froze. Her mouth opened, then shut again. She glanced down at her bare legs, then at the thong that left exactly nothing to the imagination, then at the shredded remains of her dignity hanging from Rhonda’s fists.

“Is she…?”

“Yup. No pants.”

“Oh my God.”

Jenn wanted to sink into the floor. She clutched at her T-shirt, tugging it down as far as it would go, which was tragically not far enough. Her face burned so hot she was certain she could power the treadmill without electricity.

“Uh…” she croaked. “Thank you?”

Rhonda, unbothered, handed her the torn leggings as if this were a routine customer service transaction. “You’ll want to pick up a replacement at the front desk shop. We sell shorts and leggings.”

The teenagers by the squat racks actually laughed out loud at that, one of them stage-whispering, “Did you get that on camera?”

She caught one last glimpse of herself in the wall: sweaty, disheveled, and undeniably pantless.

She knew this moment was going to be retold by strangers for weeks.