You: Medium tall, brown hair, black t-shirt, some tattoos on your arms. Getting off the train at the Quaker stop Tuesday around 8 PM. In a rush, you cursed loudly it was raining and you didn’t have an umbrella. You grabbed a newspaper off the stand and held it over your head while you ran outside. I thought that was really cute.
Me: Short guy, reddish blond hair, always wearing a suit. I was coming home from work, and we could have shared a cab, but you were faster than me.
Let’s Meet: This week at the Quaker stop, 8 PM. I’ll be there every day for my normal commute. Say hey, and we’ll get a drink or a bagel. I’m a gentleman.
You: Ginger in a suit. Standing at the Quaker station Thursday night. You had a briefcase, which is sexy, because no one has real jobs with suitcases anymore. It seemed like you were confused about the train stop, or maybe you were waiting for someone? Maybe that someone could be me.
Me: On the train and couldn’t get off, because my place is three stops away. I’m a 30s something, brunette waitress coming from working a long day downtown. Would love someone to help me relax after a shift.
Let’s Meet: Hamilton’s Tea Stop, 8:30 PM on Monday. It’s a great place nearby to unwind. I’ll recommend some tea, and you can tell me what a real job is like.
You: Cute girl at Hamilton’s Monday night. Sitting by yourself. Between the comfortable shoes and general air of exhaustion, I’m guessing service industry. You were reading Dostoyevsky, curled up into one of the big armchairs. I haven’t read anything like that since high school, so I was impressed.
Me: Tall (for a) girl, short brown hair. You complimented my tattoos while you were getting lemon and honey for your tea and I was getting sugar for my coffee. I thanked you, but I was in too much of a rush (and too nervous) to ask you out.
Let’s Meet: I bartend at The Hole, two blocks away from Hamilton’s (I know, terrible name). Come by this weekend. Drinks are on me.