I had the oddest experience on the subway yesterday. I took a line I don’t usually take at an hour I don’t usually take it, and it was like a whole new world. It felt almost like a bar on a Friday or Saturday night: everyone was chatting amongst themselves and really excited to be off of work even though it was only a Wednesday. However, there was another strange occurrence. Three young, cute businessmen were checking me out. Like hardcore looking me up and down. Any one of them could have accidentally bumped into me and said sorry, using it as an excuse to talk to me and get my name, or number, or website. This is my new thing – when I meet someone out and they ask for a number I know they won’t use, I give them my website address instead. “I need traffic,” I half-heartedly joke, although I’m not joking at all. I do. Anyways, I thought it’d be so very “New York” of me if I had a subway romance. (This only sounds cute if you live here – even then, it’s kind of disgusting what with how muggy it can get down there). But, for a split second, I thought it might be cute. Then the subway stopped at 23rd street and the moment was gone.
What is up with men and not pursuing? Isn’t that their job? Isn’t that their evolutionary calling? Men need to hunt and gather, therefore don’t present yourself too easily and they will come hither, or something like that. Women have been saying this for yours. But really, that is false. If men want to come hither, they’d have to grow some guts and speak up. And then it dawned on me: I’m aggressive when I’m not sober, and they don’t talk to me when they are sober. Where does it end? When will the meeting ever occur – if we’re sober?
How depressing is that. It dawned on me as the subway sped away from 23rd street, that the likelihood of me meeting someone randomly sober, is not likely at all. But that’s why I moved to this city, I tell myself. It’s so easy to meet people and it’s like that John Mayer song. Oh, no, my Wednesday is like a John Mayer song – not a good fact. He sings a lyric, “I could’ve met you in a sandbox, I could have passed you on the sidewalk, I could have watched you walk away…” Or I could have gotten off the wrong subway stop is what he should have said because men tend to be wimps in this city.
It’s like darts – I’m rather good at darts. When I play (which is not often) I ordinarily get at least two double bulls-eyes. Why? Because I aim to please, and I don’t fail. An opportunity presents itself, I take it. No questions asked. If only subway-riders could get this message through their mind. Instead I have to be entertained by the homeless person singing, “I Will Survive” from her disc-man. She’s kind of good actually, I think to myself.
I get off at 8th street and walk towards Waverly Place, trying to shake the pathetic fact that the next time I meet a man out, we’ll both be out of our minds. Or maybe the right one won’t. Maybe the right one will spot me at 42nd, and not let me out of his sight until he’s bookmarked jessicabarraco.jlm.me in his iPhone.