The subway is the last place I expect to pick up. There’s far too much going on.
Between avoiding the crazies, strategically picking a seat that has enough room for me and my bags and paying attention to when my stop is coming, I don’t have a spare moment to scout the scene for cute guys.
But, a new study by Craigslist’s “Missed Connections” researchers have listed Toronto’s Bathurst station as “The Most Romantic” in the city and the third most romantic in Canada. I also recently read the Toronto Star love story about a couple whose love sparked on the TTC and have now been married for 56 years.
I briefly had a slight change of heart toward meeting someone on the subway. That is, until I met Paul.
I was walking into Dundas station with my friend and retelling an anecdote about the past weekend. There was a man walking in front of us. He was one of the mild creepers. He didn’t look homeless, but was wearing a teal and purple windbreaker with grungy cargo pants. When he turned back to catch a glimpse of who was loudly retelling their weekend adventures, I cringed at his yellowed teeth and scruffy upkeep.
He smiled. I figured he was getting a kick out of eavesdropping on our conversation. I didn’t mind.
As we all went through the turnstiles, he stopped and turned to face us. He looks into my eyes and said, “I just have to say, you are stunning.”
“Oh… um… thank you,” I reply.
“I mean, you’d have guys lining up for you if you didn’t talk so much.”
And with that he walked away. My friend and I burst into laughter. WHO SAYS THAT?
Standing on the platform, we compose ourselves and continue with our conversation. Sure enough, after a few minutes, Mr. Sketchy approaches me once again.
“Sorry to interrupt but my goodness, you have a collection of beautiful body parts.”
He reaches into his pocket and hands me his card.
“I’d like to take you out for a coffee sometime. Email me.”
I hesitantly reach for his card, carefully not making contact with his hand. It’s white with two black stars and “Paul” printed in a large font with the tagline as “Dimitri’s Devil.”
The subway comes and we jump in different cars.
As soon as I got home I did some research, only to find that Paul was being trained by a pickup artist in Toronto named Dimitri The Lover.
On his site, he refers to himself as “the prophet” and claims to be “a medical doctor who uses psychiatric insight to conquer sluts.” It gets better. Each meeting you attend is $29 or you can opt for an annual member ship for $269. But of course, the website stipulates: “The Prophet never meant for these monthly meetings to make any money, but rather offered them as a community service to horny men throughout the Greater Toronto Area.”
The more I read, the more ridiculous it all seemed. I found out the meetings are currently on hiatus, but the website is still up and running full force. I also found out the reason behind Paul’s game tactic. In one of his seminars Dimitri teaches guys to hit on the “leader” of a group of girls by paying them a compliment, but then slightly insulting them. This is supposed to take them off their pedestal. It’s also meant to leave the girl thinking about it for the rest of the evening. After ignoring her for some time, pay her one more compliment and presto! She’ll apparently be happy to have impressed you and you’ll be able to win her over with ease.
Of course, this is meant to be conducted while at a club or a party… not over the span of two minutes while waiting for the subway.
Just for kicks, I emailed Paul. I asked him if he hands out cards often and why he signed up to be one of Dimitri’s devils. He replied:
“I’m looking for a relationship. I joined Dimitri’s Devils because I could not get laid and was becoming a metrosexual shame. It was beginning to make me useless to women.”
He continued to say that he has given out many cards and will continue to do so because he’s “a real man and proud of it.”
You can check it out the ridiculousness for yourself:
I always loved it when a guy nonchalantly gave me his business card, but even that tactic has now been tainted.
~ Amanda Cupido