Let me set the stage for the creepiest missed connection that has never happened. Well, it happened, it just didn't make its way onto any online classifieds. Around 3am during Stampede I got off the C-train near my house with some friends and it all happened so fast. A guy dressed like a cowboy and a girl dressed like, well, a Taylor Swift music video, jumped onto the tracks and ran for the chain link fence. My friends didn't notice this so I told them to stop. I am not a weirdo but watching scantily clad drunk girls climb fences might be one of my favorite pastimes. As we watched, a man sidled up beside us and said something along the lines of "I hope she gets hurt, I haven't seen anyone get injured yet today." Strange right? He was dressed in all black, and not in a sexy Johnny Cash way, my memory is a bit foggy from my roommate's secret ice tea recipe, but I'm pretty sure he was wearing a duster. He most likely wasn't but there's no way to know for sure. As the girl made it over the fence without keeping her dignity intact we all started walking again. We joked about pushing the man in black on the tracks so he could be the one injured, he laughed and got on his bike and rode off into the night, or so we thought. We got almost all the way to our house when out of nowhere we hear a voice say "Speaking of murder..." it was the man in black on his bike. How do you sneak up on someone on a bike? Buddy needs to put some cards in his spokes ASAP! He never did finish his sentence, he just rode away. Now whenever a bicycle rides past the house me and my roommate are instantly put on edge.
Canada Day 2012 landed on a Sunday. Me and my two best friends fired up the Margaritaville machine then hit the town. Hitting the town was not as easy as we had hoped. We wanted to dance but all of the respectable adult establishments were closed.What could we do? We had to resort to the bar in town where all the fresh 18's and fake ID's hang out. I was killing it on the dance floor with my finger guns and little kicks when I locked eyes with a mysterious stranger. This stranger was dancing in the most peculiar way, causing the hoodie he had tied around his waist to fly around as if it were dancing to its own song. His bright orange Wheaties t-shirt was slightly dampened by sweat. We made our way toward each other in what felt like slow motion, mostly because we were walking in poorly executed slow motion. We didn't touch, we didn't even exchange a word, we just danced. Then this stranger asked me for my number and I asked for his age. Was he a teenager? I'd rather not divulge that, you know, for legal reasons. Did I give him my number? Again, I'd rather not divulge that information. Do I have a contact in my iphone listed as "Teenage Derek" that's something I'll never admit to. Did I get a missed connection? No.