So I did some writing exercises in writing what I thought were creative missed connections. I often read craigslist missed connections and the writing is a bit lack luster and I thought if everyone put in a bunch of effort into writing beautiful missed connections the world might be a bit of a better place.
I guess I’ll post them in a series of weeks. I wanted to do this for a whole year, but the sheer repetitive nature started to drag me down and I came to the conclusion that people should just approach others if they feel something special happening.
Anyway here’s the first week if anyone still reads this hope you enjoy.
3/6/13 w4m – Manhattan
I was riding the R train to work yesterday and I had my white ear buds in listening to The Black Keys. You were sitting across the train from me wearing brown penny loafers, no socks, dark chinos, and a white oxford shirt. You looked to be in shape and I was just sort of staring off into space in your general direction.
The lights went out in the train for a few seconds and when they came back on you had made a ridiculous looking face at me, which took me awhile to notice, but I couldn’t help but laugh.
You smiled and got off at 23rd Street. You made my day and I can’t stop thinking about you. Please email me back with a picture so I can know it’s you.
3/7/13 m4w – Manhattan
I was the tall skinny blonde guy with the suit that didn’t fit quite as well as it should have and you pointed this out to me. You were the short auburn haired girl with the tattoos and pink tutu and told me that your profession was being a magician. We were in a bar somewhere in the LES and I thought you were beautiful.
I asked you to do a magic trick and stood up on a stool kissed me and walked away and I never saw you again. When I tried to buy a round for my friends I realized my wallet was gone and I guess you had made it disappear. You would be the best magician ever if you made it reappear in the next few days in my apartment since you know where I live, but I’d rather just get to talk to you again.
3/8/13 m4m – Brooklyn
I was running around Park Drive in Prospect park and you were on a bike wearing one of those tight biking one pieces, clip in shoes, and a pink helmet. You looked a bit like a professional biker and pretty cute to boot so I was the one who asked you to race to the top of the hill. You looked over at me, smiled, and asked if I wanted a head start.
I said give me ten seconds and took off as hard as I could going up that hill. After a little bit you pulled up next to me and said it was nice meeting and that your name was Emilio. You then tore off and I never saw you again even at our debatable finish line. Hopefully you are reading this and if not then maybe I’ll see you in the park sometime.
Last night at the Owl Farm I met you somewhere near the front of the bar. We talked about the different yeasts used in beer and how you were growing different strains of wild yeast and selling them to American beer brewers. You were very passionate that the American brewing system was not very sophisticated in the yeasts that they used and instead relied on the grains and hops. You were really cool and cute.
I was the guy in the dark grey flannel shirt and jeans with short hair. You were the tall German girl that knew a lot about beer. If you’re interested and potentially reading this you should let me educate you on wine.
I was in Park Slope eating at Thistledown Tavern at the bar by myself and you were also eating next to me at the bar. I was drinking a Tecate and you were drinking a glass of white wine. I made some comment about how good your Mac and Cheese looked and you offered me a bite of it—so good.
Anyway we got to talking and you mentioned that you were a food writer for the New York Times and I told you that I was a lawyer. I’m actually a single lawyer who just opened her own restaurant and I would love a review from the New York Times. The way you talked about food was poetic. Please come by The Gilted Goose anytime and have a meal on the house.
I was drunk again or maybe it had been always. I stumbled into this little noodle shop that had maybe ten seats. I was asked to sit down at the bar and a menu was placed in front of me along with some hot green tea. The tea was soothing and helped clear the fog from my mind long enough to realize that I was in a ramen-ya. I picked the spicy miso ramen with mushrooms, bamboo shoots, and crispy pork belly.
I could see the chef in the kitchen throwing noodles into big deep bowls and pulling out ladles of steaming stock and pouring them into the bowls. As I finished my tea soup appeared before me and the smells were more intoxicating than a fifteen year single malt. I could smell the promise of hot chili mixed with the silky smooth of rendered pork fat. The broth was a red murky color that seemed to become thicker after each spoonful I consumed. I felt like I was changing while I ate each spicy rich spoonful of broth and noodles. Each chewy bamboo shoot paired with a spicy crispy fat of the pork altered something inside of me. I remember leaving thirty dollars on the bar and walking out when it was finished.
I have been sober for a year to this day and I have not been able to find this ramen-ya again. If I imagine hard enough I can still taste the soup. Please, if you know of this place email me so I can thank the chef for saving my life with a bowl of soup.
We flirted once or twice by email–actually it was twice–but who is counting? It was mostly a one sided interaction in that I sent you a lot of emails with very little return. I tired of putting myself out there, but for a minute there we flirted pretty hard a few weeks ago. I got an email back and was asked to come in for an interview. I prepped hard with getting my suit dry cleaned, teeth cleaned, hair blow dried (I can’t afford a haircut right now), and printing out copies of my resume on a cotton-linen blend.
The interview went well I thought and we seemed to connect on a lot of different levels. There was even a little salary flashing that I wasn’t ready for, but the thrill of others finding out made me feel all tingly inside. Anyway, it’s been a few weeks and I’m starting to get antsy. Can you just give me a yes or no and at least let a girl know if she’s in or not? This waiting in limbo at times feels worse than just even having a prospect. Please don’t stand me up job. Please email me back.