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What is the big deal with remote controls?

I really don't get it, but that might be because I don't have a TV.

I've never had an argument with my spouse about who got to hold the remote all evening. I've never come unglued as my better half scrolled through an endless number of channels in record time. And I've never spent an entire evening digging under cushions and piles of clothes to find a remote that's gone missing.

I just don't get what's so special about a remote control.

It's not just at home. Think of hotels. Some places lock the remote to the top of a nightstand. You sit on the bed and try desperately to twist the device to just the right angle to get the channel to change only to realize the batteries are dead.

More often than not, it takes an act of Congress to get the maintenance guy to come to the room and change the batteries. He eyes you suspiciously the whole time he's in the room until he finally locks the remote safely back in place.

But it wasn't until this weekend that I really understood just how powerful that almighty remote control has become in American society.

I arrive at the gym late in the evening, ready to get some personal time with my favorite treadmill in the quiet little loft high above the rest of the patrons. I check in at the front desk and exchange small talk with the nice fellow behind the counter. He's a likable guy who takes his job seriously, trying hard to please the patrons.

I walk past all the sweaty teenage boys besting each other on the weight machines while eyeing the young women working out not too far away. I walk around one man who has decided the best place to do push-ups is right where I am supposed to walk. I guess he didn't see the empty mats at the back of the room.

I climb the stairs, drop my gym bag, turn on the treadmill, plug in my headphones and get ready for an hour of brisk walking. I scan the monitors high above my head to decide which TV channel I want to watch.

My choices are some bald guy trying to talk people into bidding money on items they don't really need, yet another heart-wrenching story about a recent tragedy, a baseball game or some drama involving a woman crying while running after a man.

I choose to watch the drama.

I plug in my headphones to see why the woman is crying. But I don't hear a woman crying. I hear an announcer yelling at the top of his voice.

"Carlson moves around the defenses and manages to get inside! There goes the puck! In it goes. It's INNNNN, and he SCORESSSSSS!"

What?

I check the channel in my headphones. That can't be the problem. Then I check the second monitor farther down. There's no woman crying, only a bunch of guys piling on top of each other in the middle of an ice hockey rink.

Great.

I sigh. I get off the treadmill, grab my gym bag, walk back down the stairs, past the man still doing push-ups in the aisle, past the posturing teens and back to the front desk.

The nice young man sees me coming and smiles. "What can I do for you?" he asks.

"The channels are messed up upstairs. Can you please come change the channel back to the one it's supposed to be on?"

He looks crestfallen.

"I'm sorry," he says. "But I can't help you."

I wait for an explanation.

"They won't let the night people have a remote," he says.

I think he's joking, so I laugh. But he doesn't. I realize he's telling the truth.

"You're serious?"

"Yep. I'll leave a note for the manager to fix the channels in the morning. They keep the remote locked in the safe."

I think about this new information for a minute and then ask another question.

"They trust you with running the gym, letting in customers and handling their problems?"

He nods.

"They trust you with keys to the front door?"

He nods again.

"They trust you to lock up this facility when you leave, but they won't trust you with a remote?"

The poor guy won't even look me in the eye anymore.

I finish my workout and go home, still marveling at the logic of a company that will trust a young man with the keys to its establishment but not the remote to change the channel.

Oh, and if anyone knows, can you please tell me why was that woman crying? I never did find out. But the guy she was chasing left in a truck, and so I figure maybe he took the remote with him when he left.

Why else would she have been crying so hard?