Metro Stalker

A few weeks ago, there was a really cute guy on the metro on my way to work. And, lucky day! He totally checked me out. I gave him one of my patented, tried-and-true, coy, flirty half smiles—feeling pretty good about myself.

Drawn to my undeniable magnetism, he came over and stood right over me (I was sitting, he was holding onto the bar behind my seat). I'm not entirely sure which stop it was at which he got on the train because I was distracted by how much I could see myself dating him, how happy we’d be together, the sparkly diamond he’d give me, the size of the house we’d buy together… As it turns out, that was also just enough to distract me from actually getting him to talk to me too.

I did notice, however, that he was not wearing a ring. I also noticed his work security badge dangling in my face, with his name conveniently emblazoned across the front. I swear it glowed when I looked at it.

Obviously, like any google-savvy young woman with just enough information to be dangerous, I did a little light reconnaissance when I got to the office. Ok, one might be able to use the term “cyber stalked” and may be completely accurate, but should we really get wrapped up in semantics?

Yes, I realize that might have been a little intrusive (and I also know that you’re thinking a better term might be psycho), but try and deny that you’ve done it. Uh huh, I didn’t think so.

I unveiled a wealth of information! Here's the kicker, though, according to his LinkedIn profile, two of my good friends knew people who knew him. I thought that was hysterical, so I emailed those friends to relate the funny story and prove just how easy the internet has made the seven degrees of separation game, even when played with strangers.

I thought we’d have a good laugh and that’d be the end of it. How naïve of me…

Coincidently, the middleman to one of my friends’ connections to my metro boyfriend was sitting in the cube right in front of her as she was reading my email. She told me she casually brought up my metro boyfriend to her cubemate. I’m still not 100% on how that “casual” mention actually went down, but I fear it was something like, “Oh my gosh! My friend totally checked out your friend on the metro, went back to her office and found out all sorts of personal stuff about him! Can you believe it?!”

Regardless of how that initial conversation transpired, my conniving friend and her cube buddy started talking about setting up a happy hour to get us all together. Awesome.

This is how I imagined the invitation to such a happy hour would go:

Cube Friend to Metro Boyfriend: Hey, want to get drinks on Thursday?

Metro Boyfriend: Sure, man, that’d be fun. Let’s find hot chicks.

Cube Friend: Unnecessary, Dude. You’ve already found one, although, you might be able to substitute the word “psycho” for “hot.”

Metro Boyfriend: Huh?

Cube Friend: Smooth move wearing your name badge on the metro. Some crazy chick tracked you to my coworker and then to me. You might want to get a police escort when you head home tonight. Who knows what else she’s found out about you? She could end up making a suit out of your skin. Didn’t that happen in a movie?

Metro Boyfriend: What? Wait, is she hot? Dude, I’m still in.

If I had had the balls to have actually allowed this plan to go to fruition, I’m pretty sure that this is exactly how I would have found true love. Or, the details would have shaped the memo section of a restraining order.