Harrowing Tale

Hello, all.

While I transition from not being sick to wanting to do anything but lie down and complain. I thought I might grace everyone with a poignant story that will go a ways toward showing a few failed attempts at social interaction. That way, when you read further stories (and there will be, I swear) about me triumphing over my very nature, you’ll be extra super impressed. This technique is what Lindsay Lohan refers to as “raising the stakes.”

The Story About the Girl That Smiled At Me This One Time:

My first winter in Chicago, I worked a block and a half from an ‘El station, which came in handy on days where it was Chicago’s charming mixture of freezing and windy. “Yo-ho,” early settlers must have exclaimed, “Upon this drafty, death trapping river shall we build a new settlement! Say, when did all of my fingers fall off?”

I woke up late one morning and rushed around to get a decent breakfast in me, shower, dress and get to work and rush out into the inviting bleakness of a city encased in ice and grumpiness. I made it to the train station by the grace of god and had to use one of the fare purchasing machine thing (of which I’m certain there’s a less clunky name, just as I’m certain I won’t waste a moment trying to think of one). Using the fare purchasing machine thing next to me was an attractive woman, we stepped up to our respective machines at the same time and she glanced at me and smiled.

I smiled back, but thought nothing of it, really, just one of those ‘hey look at this sort of thing that happens’ smiles that we all do. But then, in the middle of utilizing the fare purchasing machine thing, I happened to catch this attractive woman smiling at me. Well, there’s nothing coincidental about this one, and I find myself a bit flattered. I smile back and she looks away, sheepishly, but still smiling.

She finishes her fare purchase at the fare purchasing machine thing (I should’ve taken the time to think of a less clunky name, I realize now, but: No time!) and goes through the turnstiles which lead up two flights of steps to the train platform. She stops once, briefly, before starting up the steps to glance back at me and smile again. I smile back and she turns, hurrying up the steps. I tell myself that this is an encouraging sign and head up the stairs myself.

When I get to the top of the stairs, to the train platform I look to my right and see this attractive lady looking back at me, still smiling. Not one to miss quite so many hints, I’ve already decided to walk over and talk to her. I’ve clearly blown her away with my very presence, and getting a date with her should be child’s play. I’m just about to turn and walk over to her when I happen to glance across the tracks, and see myself in the window of the train on the opposite side.

What I see is myself, still smiling, body still aimed at the attractive young lady. Then I happen to notice that my hair is standing on end, malformed in a way that makes me resemble a mix of Play from Kid N’ Play and Gumby, perhaps. I reach a hand up and discover that my hair is frozen solid. I had clearly not dried it well enough after my shower, and once I got outside, the wind blew it into an undesirable shape where it was quickly frozen.

And there was nothing to do about it at all.

As though there were any saving face in this situation, I turned and walked to the opposite end of the platform from the attractive woman. And I’m certain I passed other attractive women, but, by then, I wasn’t really paying attention. A very crowded train came moments later and I boarded to more smiling faces and became situated in such a way that I was able to watch, in the window of the train that I was on, my hair slowly melt into a puddle on top of my head.

Luckily, when I got off the train and my hair re-froze, it was in a less early-90s style.

Up next: How I insulted a well-meaning co-worker about her childhood dreams.