(As submitted to Jah Jeff by anonymous Dank reader)

So this happens to me everyday on the way to work, usually within the first eight blocks of my commute. A stop light turns yellow, and usually I’d step on it, but now those lights have eyes. You’d better resist the burning urge to go through it, otherwise you’ll get a nice envelope containing two CIA spy satellite quality pictures. One of the red light with your car in the intersection, and the other of your zoomed in license plate. Busted. That costs you 500 Wendy’s nuggets.

As a result of my pussing out to the man, I un­doubtedly will be stopped next to some hottie in her trendy ride. Usually, most people would glance once then pretend to be changing the radio station or digging for change. I gave up on that long ago. I just stare. She loves it. They all do. I know it. They’re trying not to look, but I can tell by the way she’s readjusting in her seat that she’s dying to have me. It’s cool baby, let’s race off the line, I’ll play your little games.

After twenty blocks of this, I arrive at Lawrence and Western just under an L stop on the blue line. I see a lot of environmentally conscientious (i.e. broke) people getting off the train, a few of which would have unquestionably given me their digits back when I used to hunt white-tail on the train. (Thankfully for these patrons of public transportation, lawyers and internet radio djs don’t ride the blue line) Then I remember that picking up chicks on the train got too easy and that hitting on girls while flooring it between stop lights is much more exciting for the ladies. You’d have to be missing limbs to not be able to pick up chicks on the train.

So this happens to me a few times a week: on the red line, see a guy staring at a gorgeous brunette on the train with me.I’ve stopped doing anything on the train. I used to read. I used to listen to music. Now I do nothing except sleep and watch people. Eerily, sometimes that happens simultaneously. In fact last night I dreamt that I was hanging out with Posh and Jerome at a bar owned by a woman named Larada. In the dream I thought her name was Laura and was corrected by her. The bar was on the 2nd floor above a Mexican restaurant. I asked Larada if she owned the Mexican restaurant as well because I wanted a free quesadilla, but she didn’t own it. Then I woke up. Anyway, the train.

Usually at least once a week, but sometimes more, you get the guy on the train that clearly has fallen head over heels for the attractive girl he desperately wants to talk to. Some weeks, such as this Valentine’s week, it seems to happen a bit more frequently. Is love in the air? No, but desperation is. And that’s not a knock on the Dank staffer below, it’s a fact based upon non-scientific observation. As our resident Dr. Tune might say, I’ve “peeped” it by reflecting a mirror image into my brain.

When Cupid’s arrow deals a deadly blow to the guy on the train, everyone around him springs into action. Granted, many el riders were already in action, eating their McD’s in front of everyone or ruining their hearing by listening to music at an ungodly volume, but when people notice the guy, they immediately do what they can to help. Unfortunately, this help is thankless, because it’s always in the form of intrapersonal communication.

“Do it, guy! Speak. You can do it. Make a comment about the snow. It’s just snow. Look at her, she loves snow. She was placed in a cradle of snow after she was born. Oh crap, she caught you looking at her. It’s alright, guy. It’s alright. Give a foolish smile if she catches you again. No! Wait! She caught you again and you put up your hands and made a “I’m guilty” face. That’s not gonna cut it, man. She doesn’t want guilt. Not until tomorrow, anyway…”

A couple times I’ve actually seen it work where a man stranger has gotten a number. I’ve also seen countless rejections. Those are always funny, and the rejected guy gets an embarrassed smile from nearly everyone on the train. It has to make his day, getting all those funny smiles from people after they see him lose out to the girl who says she’s in a relationship or the worst rejection ever: total ignoring of the guy by the girl. That’s when you almost want to open up your wallet to the rejected guy and be like, “Just take whatever…that was really rough, man.” It’s a cold world, and Lord knows there aren’t that many deaf women on the el.

So this happens to me once about every three weeks: on the red line, see a gorgeous brunette on the train with me.Now, whats my play in this situation? I mean, i know I am getting off in a few stops. Chances are you are too. I am probably late for work, so its not like I can ride around waiting for the right time to talk to you (and I am not that creepy…yet), So any conversation we have is going to be brief, and probably cut short in an awkward manner that would foil any number exchange. Do you really want to get hit on while riding the train anyway? I would assume not. Not that I am exactly great at opening to begin with, but what do I say here that doesn’t sound completely ludicrous:

“so, southbound? its the best direction this time of day. Roosevelt stop? Oooh, thats a good one. Anything fun in the Red Eye? Yeah, that Britney is something else huh? Well, here’s Grand, maybe we could…oh, doors closing, see you later.”

I mean, I guess you were reading a book, and I could have made a comment on that, but 1) I haven’t read a most books (see above) 2) seems like I am trying to be overly intellectual, which, in the off chance you buy that it, will only lead to disappointment when I suggest we go to Applebees for our first date. Or maybe I get lucky and the bomb dogs are at Grand, buying me precious time.

But my phone was dead anyway, I didn’t have a pen, and lets be honest, you weren’t going to call me.