The Morning Commute, Pt.1

So by now, you’ve probably had a chance to meet our married guy, Al “Brooklyn” Bundy, as well as our single guy, Southern Gentleman. To balance it out and give a fresh voice of reason, welcome Amelda Davis. A fabulous single gal living in NYC, she’s our resident Carrie Bradshaw – but with more spice.

Life. It’s a funny thing.
I walked down the steps to the train last Friday and I thought, ‘how hilarious would it be if I ran into Married Man?” Married Man was this guy I ran into on the train all the time. One week, we saw each other five times going to or coming from work. (I also ran into him at industry events. Sans a wedding ring.) After I found out he was married, I never spoke to him again, asked him not to text me. He hit me a few times after, I never responded. I don’t f*ck around in any fashion with married men.

I hadn’t thought about Married Man in a few weeks then. After we first stopped speaking, I was nervous on a daily basis about running into him. He wasn’t taking no for an answer very well and I wondered how I would react when I saw him, furthermore, if he would say or do anything crazy. I mean he seemed like a nice guy, but then I found out damn near everything he said for 2 weeks was a lie. Nice guys aren’t habitual liars. That and it takes a devious and reckless mofo to try to cheat with a woman who lives around the corner from where he lives with his wife and kid.

Anyway, for some reason, I think about him and the hilarity it would be if he was on the subway platform at the same time as me again. Not that I wanted to see him. Just thought it was funny that he was there so often, we stop speaking, and suddenly I never see him again.

I reached the bottom of the steps and who did I see waiting for the train?

God has a sense of humor apparently.

I’d let my guard down too long to remember how I’d planned to react. I go momentarily blank. Instead of walking to where I usually wait (his direction), I turn and go the opposite way.

I stare blankly ahead waiting for the train and I can’t help but laugh out loud at the way life works. (On some level, I do realize that my life plays out like a well-written dramady. Doesn’t everyone’s though?) And then…Well, then I realize this mofo is headed my way.

I don’t look at him when he says, “hello.”

“Go back to where you were sitting,” I say in my adult voice. (The one with the bass.)

”Huh? I can’t say hi.”

I wanna give him the n*gga-are-you-f*cking-crazy look, but I will not give him the attention he clearly wants.


”Oh.” Pause. ” Well, your hair looks nice by the way.”


He walks a bit away but stands with his back to me while he waits for the train. I envision kicking him in the ass so he falls on the train tracks and then I break out my phone to blog about this encounter.

The train finally comes (forever, it took.) he walks forward to get on one car. I walk back to take another one. I don’t even want to ride in the car with this fool.

I get off the subway, stop by Starbucks for my morning caramel apple cider and banana nut muffin. At my desk, I eat and check my Outlook, then a web forum I’m addicted to, then my personal e-mail.

”Well, I’ll be….”

There’s a message from Married Dude.

It reads:

Part 2: Monday.

Amelda Davis is a twenty-something editor living and partying in New York City. She’s realized she’s much better at friendships than relationships, but keeps dating anyway. The result of her adventures -and those of consenting friends– are the subject of this hilarious and sometimes way too honest blog.

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