To What Lengths Do Some Of Us Go To Give Our Digits Out

Now any of us who work in a bar see first hand how the power of liquid courage can work. Upon entering the bar a man can go from mild mannered and respectful to an unshackled beast a-la Jekyll and Hyde. Maybe he was a beast to begin with and the booze makes him mutate further. So here goes the story.

I'm on the #4 train headed Uptown to 125th Street after a long night at work.. Now those of you who have read my prior posts know that I primarily take the 6 train affectionally referred by me as The Iron Horse #6. But since there split service construction on the #6 line I'm forced to re-route somewhat. Back to the story at hand.

This drunk dude gets on either at Astor Place or 14th Street. I'm not sure. All I know is that he is super drunk. How can I tell? Really now folks, I'm a professional. I know a drunk when I see one. Plus the plop down into the seat in front of me was a dead give away. Casanova (and you'll know soon enough why I call him that) focuses his bleary eyed gaze on this young lady sitting down the seat to my right. She was a damn good looking woman. Can't blame Casanova for noticing her. But he was intently staring at her. It was actually quite uncomfortable. It was like watching a lion stalk his prey with a drunken gait.

So he reaches into his pocket and takes out a red pen and a small marble notebook. He scribbles something into it, tears the page out and drunkenly stands up as the train is moving along towards 33rd Street. He extends the ripped out page to the young lady. I can only assume that it was his name and number. She shook her head twice trying to reject the overture. Finally she took the paper and as she got up from her seat she dropped it underneath her. As the train stopped at 42nd Street, she got off and I saw that she got back on the train in the next car, trying to avoid Casanova. But my man as the hunter refused to be dissuaded.

He got back up and went into the next car through the emergency doors, he then proceeded to come back in to the car I was in and plopped down next to me. Again he took out the aforementioned red pen and small marble notebook. He scribbled down what looked like a name and a jumble of numbers. My man was determined to give this woman his digits. He was truly a persistent fellow.

Again he lurched up to his feet went into the next car and never came back in. Nosy fucker that I am decided to see if I could catch up with Casanova. As I got off at 125th Street, I saw him plop down next to the same woman who he was trying to pawn his number off on. If a picture was worth a thousand words, her face was worth ten times as much. To her credit, she timed her exit from the train to coincide with the doors closing, leaving her paramour on the now Bronx bound #4 train.

To add insult to injury, she got on the same train car that I was now on. Upon sitting down some other guy immediately started hitting on her. I did say she was good looking. She stormed off the train. Where she ended up only she knows.

Hopefully her odyssey of drunken and aggressive paramours came to an end.

FH