Music: Hellbillys, Livin’ in the City

So, every morning i take the L from the Southside up to Roger’s Park, where i work with the Piglet. It’s a long commute, but generally in the morning it’s fairly quiet and uneventful. I enjoy gazing at the downtown Chicago architecture and thinking about what i would do if i was Supreme Goddess of the Universe, my hair, and the effect of gamma rays on man-in-the-moon marigolds, and such.

At night, however…

It’s a different story entirely.
Let me preface this with asking a general question to anyone who may be reading this;
Why is it that there seems to be a rather large sub-species of the Male Tribe that thinks waylaying and harassing women on the L is a viable, socially exceptable way of approaching women?
I mean i honestly want to know. Does that sort of thing work for any of you? Do they take the socially inept ones aside in say, P.E. class and give you pointers on how to be creepy with women?
Here is a sample of the exchange with some random Creepy Longhaired Dude i had the other day on my commute home, just as i’m stepping off the train:

CLD: Excuse, me, uh, excuse me miss? Can i talk witchoo?

Me: Er, no. I’m in a hurry, i have someplace to be…

CLD scurries up into my line of vision to walk next to me.

CLD: Yeah, OK, but can i talk to you a minute? I have something to ask you.

Me:: (Sigh. Great, this guy is a Mormon or Jehovah’s Witness or something and is gonna ask me if i’ve found Jesus)…WHAT?
I look over, and then down, at this little creature with a ponytail and eyebrows like caterpillars. but rather handsome in a short, creepy sort of way. He is gazing up at me hopefully. His eyes are filled with what is probably some sort of Religious Fervor.

CLD: Well, see, the thing is that i’m in this band…(here he pauses for Dramatic Effect) and i have to tell you, well, first of all you have the most beeyootiful hair i’ve ever seen in my life!

Me: (Ok, not a religious freak - perhaps a representative for Locks of Love? Or he’s about to make some smarmy offer for me to be in his creepy “music video”? Either way, he either wants to shave my head or get me half-nekkid in front of a camera…) Uh-huh. Very kind of you, thanks. I really do have to be somewhere so if you’ll excuse me…

CLD: I mean it really is just gorgeous hair! I was wondering if you’d give me your number so i can call you and you can come see my band sometime? I live in a loft around here, it’s really huge, a great loft…i think people who are dating should live apart, you know? Unless of course things get serious and then they should live together…do you get high? I mean i don’t do drugs but i smoke pot, you know, it’s part of my Heritage - i’m Mexican Indian and French. (another pause for Dramatic Effect) So, see, it’s part of my Culture.

Me:. You don’t do drugs, you just smoke…er. Uh-huh. That’s great. But seriously, i have someplace to be.

CLD: How long is your hair anyway? Is it naturally curly? I can tell you’re a natural blonde - my People really value blonde curly hair. See, Indians have straight black hair - my hair is really long, but you can’t tell because it’s in this ponytail - but i have to wear it this way for work. I’d really like you to be able to see me with my hair down. I really love your hair…your hair is so sexy and exotic, it looks really hot on you! So can i have your number?

My mind is reeling. Is this person for real? My previously cherished Thing for North American Indian guys with long hair - purely shallow and physical, with a little Cultural Mystique (you know, quiet, dignified, not prone to making fools of themselves in the company of strange women) thrown in, is dashed to pieces. Serves me right for being so shallow. This guy is like a Rabid Ferret on Crack.

Me: No.

Creepy Hair Fetish Guy, formerly CLD: Well, here’s my number. Give me a call anytime, OK? You should come see my band play - we’re really good. Call me, OK? Why don’t you give me your number since i gave you mine?

Me: No, if i want to get ahold of you, i’ll text you, i say , crumpling up the slip of paper with as much irony as possible, hoping he’ll catch on.

Creepy Hair Fetish Guy: Great! Hey, it was great talking to you…call me & we’ll go out sometime and i’ll look TOTALLY different with my hair down, ok?

I walk away, feeling as though i’ve been shot in the neck with horse tranquilizers - not entirely sure if i actually just had this utterly bizarre conversation, or extreme fatigue has finally caught up with me. Why is it that the creepiest, most mentally cracked, socially inept guys in the city always manage to find me on my commute home?
I start to wonder if i give off some kind of Homing Signal to these people…sort of like a Freak Magnet.
And if so, how do i have it removed?

And they say there are no Guys in Chicago.