NTKOG #244: The kind of besotted transit enthusiast who, once you catch her eye, turns the traincar into a make-shift angsty calc class and, gosh, passes you a love note.
I am: forever falling in love with people on trains and busses. Those are the best moments, I think, when a strictly theoretical interaction hovers in the realm of infinitely possibility before you inevitably pass from each other’s lives forever.
I am not: in the habit of actually informing momentary eye-catchers how lovely they are. There are national registries for dudes in said habit, guys.
The Scene: A Brooklyn-bound L Train last weekend, returning home from a lovely evening with Muscles and Justice. And while trains fascinate me even in the mildest of times, this particular car was especially alive with possibility, thanks to a magical urban anecdote Muscles had shared with me a few days prior.
Apparently he had been riding the train, as usual — standard T-shirt, ratty jeans, reading an Evelyn Waugh novel — when an anonymous woman brushed past him and dropped a note in his lap. I don’t usually do things like this, she more or less said, but you’re extremely handsome and — what if? Justice, Muscles and I reread the note a number of times, exclaiming over how cool and ballsy it was of her, and how in an alternate universe, we would have had a killer real-life rom-com on our hands.
From this discussion, two lessons: 1) See, gentlemen? This is what happens when you read Waugh novels in public; and 2) even though the note didn’t result in a love connection, and she must have been terrified to write it, nothing bad happened. Her note was the delight of all — including the girlfriend of the gentleman she’d approached.
I’d had this idea a few times before, but doing it in my hometown seemed with awkward possibility; however I was determined that before I left New York, I’d drop off a similar missive.
Unfortunately, it seems that train cars are only filled with cute guys on the days you couldn’t care less. For miles of train car between Williamsburg and Manhattan, my searching gaze was met only by homeless dudes, awkward tweens and pale, fanny-packed tourists.
As I was about to give up, on the last subway ride of the weekend, I saw him. Mid-thirties, maybe; fantastic blazer, dark-wash jeans, buttery navy loafers; riding home at midnight on a Saturday, he looked exhausted, but — more — disappointed in himself for feeling so tired. He looked the way that I always feel: like he’d tried his best and wasn’t going to take another step until something magical happened.
Oh whatever, I'll bet Robert Browning got his start scrawling ambiguous missives on the back of bakery receipts.
For three stops, hopped anxiously out of my seat every few seconds to make sure I didn’t miss his auspicious exit. Finally, saw the crown of his head rising above the thronging passengers, threw myself through a couple that was making out in my path, and extended the note. Sir! Sir!
Goddamnit, HEADPHONES! With one foot out the train, he hadn’t heard me. Desperately, I grabbed the train pole — my fist mere inches in front of a twelve-year-old’s face — and swung myself across it like a manic Gene Kelly just close enough to his path to tuck the note into the breast pocket of his blazer.
Unfortunately, just as I started tucking, he spun around to look back into the car, causing me to awkwardly stroke the smudgy receipt across his chest, then, paralyzed with horror, watch him retreat.
Another successful social interaction with another human being.
Afterwards, had only one stop to figure out how to dispense of the note. It wasn’t a proper love note, I reasoned, and surely there’s another jeans-clad man with excellent shoes who could use a pick-me-up! As we got off the train, I spotted a snappily attired gay Asian guy on a date with his cute-but-unkempt boyfriend, ran fifteen feet after him in the tunnel, tapped his shoulder and pressed it into his hand.
After which, because they were apparently walking the same direction we were, I had to run back in the tunnel and hide behind Muscles for the whole way out. As we walked aboveground, though, I hovered in the stairwell long enough to see him pause in front of the ticket machine and read the note out loud. The guys were laughing but, uh, I hope they were smiling too?
The Verdict: Argh I am terminally awkward. This anecdote is slowly receding from mortifying to hilarious, though, and in the worst-case scenario, at least I’ve secured a footnote on yet another Loonies Not To Lunch With list. Can’t argue with that, eh?
{ 16 comments… read them below or add one }
Why you gotta hate on fantasy novels? I’ve read Lolita and Crime & Punishment, that qualifies me to reread Harry Potter every year, right? I don’t care what you say! (PS. You may not remember, I checked out Carry On, Jeeves because of you and I still have not read it! Argh summer math class)
Your excursions inspire me to do something out of the way, to try and be a better, nicer person. Until I remember that I am lazy and prefer to sleep instead of exercise.. still, keep on going with these things, they are hilarious.
Ha, I assure you, I’d never genuinely hate on fantasy novels. I’ve just taken much ribbing over the years for my guilty little literary secret. Although, in retrospect, that might have less to do with the fact that I read fantasy novels and more to do with what kind of fantasy novels.
Both of the notes mentioned in this entry were fantastic. But I still don’t understand why you didn’t give Jeans guy your email address? You could have used your TKOG address to retain anonymity.
Also, although I’m sure he was delighted by receiving your note, what if he ever found it that it wasn’t meant for him?!?! I think that would be even worse than never having received a note on the subway at all. Eh, the guy I was actually admiring left before I could catch him, but you’re kind of wearing the same outfit, so . . . .
Oh, I forgot to mention! After I took the picture, I scribbled an anonymous (real-life and blog-anonymous — yeah, I have too many gmail accounts) email address. I’ll post updates if he gets back to me!
Adorable. I hope the girl on the subway does this again with more success the next time — what a cute story to tell the grandkids!
see, i am so southern, apparently, that i often walk right up to people and say, “excuse me, but your [article of clothing] is amazing. you look awesome in it. where on earth did you get it?” mostly girls, but occasionally i will compliment a guy like that. it’s just a way of life where i grew up.
i think i like your method better, though. less potential for getting looked at like a crazy person.
I’m in awe of your courtly southern ways! I always kind of feel a pull to go live in the south for a few years. Clean up my manners, learn to tolerate sweet tea, etc.
As a Texan, I do the same. People always look slightly stunned, but happy that they look cute and someone noticecd. And anyone who makes you feel dumb and aren’t grateful for an unfounded compliment may have cute shoes, but their attitude needs a kick in the pants.
And the trick to sweet tea? You gotta have STRONG tea and mix the sugar in when it’s hot, then ice it. And balance it out with a little lemon, or mint if you’re feelin’ fancy. Eventually you’ll be able to gulp down the brown sugar water on its own in no time!
Also, you may want to try it with honey and not sugar. It’s like a passel of angels threw up in your mouth.
I’m not so sure even ANGEL puke tastes good, and thus am not convinced that that would be a good thing. But I do very much like the imagery, so thank you for that. :)
It takes balls to do something like this. For that, I commend you.
I’m a former New Yorker, Southerner by adoption (my own) and I confirm what Magnolia reports. I adore it when these things happen. True, this encounter was a teensy bit less than smooth – but it just takes a little more practice! Do it again, please! I bet it would have made Mr. Used-Up-And-Defeated’s day.
Aw, have you read the Browning letters? I WANT TO SEE THE SCANDALOUS LETTER THAT GOT BURNT.
I live in a small town in California and people give and accept compliments rather well most of the time, especially on clothing. It’s common for me to get complimented by customers and friends, and vice versa. A simple thank you and a smile, no awkwardness. I think it’s funny that people find it so difficult to give and receive compliments without thinking there is some ulterior motive (sometimes there is, but not always!)
The phrase “we need to do something about that dragon” makes me very happy.
(As does reading TKOG on a real computer, rather than my phone, because it means I can see the mouseover text AND reply to comments. yay!)
Ok, so I read this, thought it was like the coolest thing since the Spice Girls, and decided I would try it out.
Now, since I’m a summer associate in a different city from where I study, I figured it would be safe to do it on the subway in current city, after all I’m leaving in a couple of days time, what are the odds I’d ever see them again?
When on Monday I saw a particularly good looking guy on the subway in a very nice charcoal gray suit with a perfectly folded white linen pocket square, I knew I had to say something. And it was great, no awkward delivery or anything; I gave him the note just as I was getting off the subway and could see him read it, smile and wink at me through the window as the train left. Awesome, right?
Yeah, it sure was… Up until the scariest partner at our firm allowed me to come to a client meeting that afternoon, and dapper subway guy was a newly hired associate of the client.
He was a gentleman about it and didn’t say anything, but I was mortified and staring at my shoes throughout the whole two hour meeting. And then at the end of it people were exchanging business cards and the one he gave me had “Don’t be embarrassed, it made my day!” scribbled on the back. (Thank God no one who knows me in real like knows).
OH MY GOSH! OH MY GOSH! This is the best thing I’ve ever read! Oh my gosh! I’m like sitting at my desk right now, shaking and totally freaking out on your behalf. This story made my day. Oh my gosh.
I’m telling you I almost wet my pants when we went into the meeting room and he first turned around. At the time the mortification was so great it was physically painful (and I am a blusher). Plus I was terrified that the previously mentioned partner would find out because he is honestly the scariest human being I’ve ever met.
But um, in a few years when I’ve kind of gotten over the embarrassment it’ll make a good cocktail party story.