Taking public transport is often an experience. The metro arrives. I queue like a real British gentleman while observing a real Chanel No. 5-wearing woman rushing into the wagon like a SWAT team. She crushes two other passengers and a bag of groceries, and receives dirty looks as reward. I walk in like I have a lot swag. The wagon seems quite full but I whisper “I have Corona” to no one and cough two times in the air for extra effect. A spot magically frees up. I settle down in my uncomfy seat. For seven stops, my body sways side-to-side on the rhythm of the tracks. I perform mental labour in an attempt to understand the meaning of life while people come and go. I also wonder if the accordion guy ever gets tired of playing The Godfather theme song.
Fast forward to an early morning after a night out on the metro platform. Sure, there’s a faster way home but I refuse to participate in capitalistic acts of private transportation or the sharing economy (okay, I’m just cheap). The metro arrives and I walk in like someone who did 40.000 steps. My legs move on automatic pilot to a seat. In front of me is a girl who briefly opens her eyes to check the environment before snoozing in again. Sleeping beauty. Red lipstick, hair stiff with hairspray and a glittering top, looks like a party outfit to me. I looked at her shoes. They were so clean whereas mine looked like a painting of Jackson Pollock. Dancefloors around these hours were supposed to be dirty. Where has she been? Maybe she had a one-night-stand, who knows.
My stop was approaching and only a few stops before the end of the line. Should I wake her up, do I mind my own business? I decided to wake her up. She looks up and recognises the metro station. A famous French curse word loudly escapes her mouth. But she thanks me for waking her up and says she’s amazed I did that. We share some small talk while we get out of the metro and part ways. Pretty anticlimactic right? The setting was almost perfect. Just the two of us, no one judging us, she having a slight positive attitude towards me. We could have had a little moment together. Alas, you need to know how to handle these kind of situations, how to lead like a man. Meeting girls is a skill and the lack thereof shows when you have been out of the game for awhile. I don’t know her name or number but in the end, regret is a good motivator.
I have a love-hate relationship with chatting up girls on public transport. If you do it right, you’re so cool and godlike. If you do it wrong, you’re harassing people and creepy. It all boils down to balancing the act between showing your intentions while acknowledging the situation, especially late in the evening with little people around (with little people, I mean few people, not people with short legs).
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