I bullshyt you not.

So I’m riding the Green Line train to work—like I do every morning. While the ride home after work can be kinda wild at times, the ride to work is usually pretty chill.  Most of the time I have a seat to myself and I can kick back and read the daily Redeye newspaper to catch up on current events (Ted Kennedy formally endorsed Barack Obama, Bush gave his LAST State of the Union address [thank God!], and how Britney has “mental issues“).

After I finished today’s paper, I got into my book, Rules of the Game. As my stop approaches, I toss the book in my bag and put my on coat (it was hot as hell on that train).

When it stops at the Randolph Street station—the one right before my exit—this crazy-lookin’ dude gets on. I’ve seen this muhfukka previously.  Maybe once or twice before.  He’s older.  If I had to guess, I’d say he was in his late-30s to early-40s.  He’s kinda bummy.  His clothes are worn down.  He’s flabby, not in shape at all. A little shorter than me.  He looks like a cracked-out black version of Doc Brown from the Back to the Future movies.  Dude usually gets on the train and stares at me.

Lookin’ all crazy and shyt.  Like he wants to say something.  It really creeps me the fukk out.  Today was no different.There are a bunch of empty seats on the train, but dude conveniently chooses to sit in the seat directly in front of me—like a foot away.

“How you doin’?” he says with that crazy look in his eyes.  I nod my head. Dog, it’s completely awkward. Thank God the next stop is mine. I adjust my trench coat and put on my Zune headphones as I get up and walk toward the door—and away from dude.  But out of the corner of my eye, I see him standing up.  He’s approaching me—again.  This time he reaches in his pocket for something.

Awww lawd! Why me, dog? He pulls out a balled-up piece of paper and hands it to me.  I unravel it only to have my worst fears confirmed.Not only is it his name and number—but he put his address on that muhfukka too. On an old Illinois lottery ticket.What THEE fukk!!!!!  At this point I’m completely taken out of my game. I have no idea how to handle the situation. I know the few people on the train have to be looking at us.

Probably laughing. I’m embarrassed.  I can’t look dude (his name is Will; he lives on the south side) in the face.

All I want to do is get the hell off the train, go to work, and proofread some medical ads. Is that too much to ask?

As the train pulls into the station, I finally get the nerve to look Will in the face.  He’s looking right back at me—with the craziest smirk on his face. He nods his head approvingly as if he’s saying, “Call me, dog.” When the doors open, I take the humbling walk of shame off of the train.In the aftermath of this horrific event, a couple questions came to mind: Why did Will have his name, phone number, and address already written out? Did he intend to give it to the next dude he wanted to bone? Or did he have it saved specifically for me—hoping he’d run into me on the train again?

When I got to work I showed a couple of my co-workers. The first thing they asked me: Why did you take the number?That’s a valid question. I didn’t have to take it.  I could have just stole on his punk ass when I figured out what he was up to.  Or I could have cussed him the fukk out for disrespecting me.  Or I could have simply asked him why he thought I was a homosexual.  But I ain’t do none of that.  I guess I was too scared to take a stand.

Now I have to adjust my train schedule in the morning so I don’t run into that muhfukka again.‘Cause I shudder to think what’ll happen if I see Will again.

–Submitted by vondarrien–

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