"I Like Your Belt" Guy, You Rock.
But you--you said something to the chick on the Red Line this morning. You and she stood at opposite doors, facing each other. God only knows where she was looking though, because she was wearing those Über-Eurotrash-Bug-Eye-Gucci-Bitch glasses. (That would have been strike one for me--generally, the women who literally pose with this latest bug-eyed fashion accessory are supreme bitches who think too much of themselves, but that is just me.)
You didn't look like a freak. You had a slight smile on your face, and seemed like a nice enough guy. As the train began to slow down as it pulled into the station, she began to jockey for position to get off the train. There was this perfect moment when the both of you were facing each other; you were about to move out of the way of the doors so she and other passengers could exit, but just before you got out of the way, you smiled at her and cheerfully said, "I like your belt."
She said something, probably, "What?" or "Excuse me?" because you repeated, "I like your belt." She said thank you and smiled a bit, but also looked wary. She moved to exit the train, and you let her and the other passengers by with the grace of a head waiter showing customers to their seats. You continued to smile with a bit of an "Oh well" look, but you didn't look defeated at all, not by a longshot.
I salute you, "I like your belt" guy. Though nothing will probably come from your attempted encounter, you opened your mouth. You took a chance. And it didn't seem like your life was over when the doorway to meeting someone new didn't open. At least you tried to jiggle the handle on that doorway, and you didn't then begin slamming your shoulder against it when you discovered it was locked. You, my friend, rock.
PS: You didn't really like that belt did you? It looked like Flashdance meets Indian American folk art. You could have used those metal shell looking thingies around her waist to dig for clams. . . :)