Just when I thought my 9-5 days were perhaps growing too monotonous, my extracurricular routines too standard, and my encounters with creepers too few, I saw a glimmer of hope on the Purple Line express train today...
To some (primarily my most trusted buddies), the text "let's go somewhere fun tomorrow night...I'm experiencing man withdrawl" is a rally cry for 20-somethings to get over our winter blues, put on something cute, and go grab drinks in Wicker Park.
Apparently to others, it's a cry of desperation and can only be interpreted as "hey stranger on the el, let me write you a note informing you that I just read your text message from an eerie distance and think that you probably wrote it with the hopes that I would ask you if you want to go grab a drink sometime, preferably this weekend as I'm predicting that if I'm at the point where I'm picking up girls on the el, it's going to be a pretty lonely weekend." Okay I made up the second part, but the first part is all too true.
To the man on the purple line express who thought that this would be an effective strategy to write this note and show it to me, to this man I have two words: It wasn't.
But let's just hope that it was the first text he read that inspired the note because the second one was prompted by a really warm seat over the radiator and read: "I'm on the hottest purple line ever. My a$$ is on fire."