I met a woman on a Metro platform on Wednesday night. She was behind me going through a turnstile. My card didn’t work immediately. She was in a bit of a hurry, but amused by my befuddled apology. It was a moment.
Our trains were coming on opposite sides of the platform, but when we caught each other’s gaze, she removed an earbud. There was my opening. I walked over, struck up a conversation. She made light of my alma mater, I of hers. (She noticed The University of Michigan Block M which emblazons the back of my backpack.)
I misjudged her train arriving, and I had to scramble to ask her out. It was not a smooth ask, and she did not respond to my text following up. I deleted her number the following day, because doing that stymies my habit of obsessing over these things.
Then, she appeared on the same Metro train as me. On my commute home that next day. She was exiting at a station previous to mine and all I had time to do was laugh along with her. She smiled when she saw me. I could only manage to say as she passed “…this has got to be fate?!"
Long story short. Her number was lost, and I had to follow up somehow. So, I found her on Facebook and sent her the message below. I changed her name.
This is my “game.” This is how I date, and this is who I am generally: I make an effort to be unexpected. To take that extra effort. To toe the line akin to How I Met Your Mother’s “Dobler Dahmer” continuum.
Most of these stories won’t end in a classically successful fashion. This woman didn’t respond to my message. But, I’m going to be the man who does these things. That’s going to be my calling card.
"1. I'm here because I deleted your number earlier today, when you didn't respond to my text. I acknowledge finding you on Facebook is going to come off creepy, but there are 4 "Claire" search results for ND grads in DC. I'm no creepy Sherlock Holmes.
2. After running into each other twice in as many days, I think we owe one drink to fate. This is Aristotelian in happenstance.
3. When you agree to that drink, you can expect similarly ridiculous overtures from me. I don't do this romance thing meekly.
So, if you're still reading, what is your number? I won't delete it this time, the universe has spoken.
Cheers, Gordon"
Our trains were coming on opposite sides of the platform, but when we caught each other’s gaze, she removed an earbud. There was my opening. I walked over, struck up a conversation. She made light of my alma mater, I of hers. (She noticed The University of Michigan Block M which emblazons the back of my backpack.)
I misjudged her train arriving, and I had to scramble to ask her out. It was not a smooth ask, and she did not respond to my text following up. I deleted her number the following day, because doing that stymies my habit of obsessing over these things.
Then, she appeared on the same Metro train as me. On my commute home that next day. She was exiting at a station previous to mine and all I had time to do was laugh along with her. She smiled when she saw me. I could only manage to say as she passed “…this has got to be fate?!"
Long story short. Her number was lost, and I had to follow up somehow. So, I found her on Facebook and sent her the message below. I changed her name.
This is my “game.” This is how I date, and this is who I am generally: I make an effort to be unexpected. To take that extra effort. To toe the line akin to How I Met Your Mother’s “Dobler Dahmer” continuum.
Most of these stories won’t end in a classically successful fashion. This woman didn’t respond to my message. But, I’m going to be the man who does these things. That’s going to be my calling card.
"1. I'm here because I deleted your number earlier today, when you didn't respond to my text. I acknowledge finding you on Facebook is going to come off creepy, but there are 4 "Claire" search results for ND grads in DC. I'm no creepy Sherlock Holmes.
2. After running into each other twice in as many days, I think we owe one drink to fate. This is Aristotelian in happenstance.
3. When you agree to that drink, you can expect similarly ridiculous overtures from me. I don't do this romance thing meekly.
So, if you're still reading, what is your number? I won't delete it this time, the universe has spoken.
Cheers, Gordon"
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