I get it: I’m single and I have been for a long time. As such, I’m wagering that my familiarity with all things XY is probably less-than-stellar, all things considered.

But as with all things in life, you can always find a little something something that will give you the daily dose of schadenfreude you need to get you through the day.

For some of you, finding that little bit of self-esteem means going out to Stella’s with the scuzziest fashions possible and feeling proud that you’ve out-hipstered everyone in Collegetown. For others, that means hitting the gym seven days a week and impressing your buddies by benching 100 pounds (or a sorority girl, whichever is heavier). But the other day, my friend pointed me to what’s probably the ultimate example of finding enjoyment at the expense of others: Craigslist Missed Connections.

Of course, there is nothing really new about Missed Connections — I’m pretty sure this section has been fueling the flames of lonely hopefuls and providing the rest of us with some much needed feel-good time since its inception in 2000.

But what I didn’t know is that Missed Connections has an Ithaca section, and the Ithaca section regularly gets a smattering of Cornell students looking for love in all the wrong places. As it happens, “all the wrong places” are a recurring set of three or four on-campus spots that seem to get a lot Craigslist-worthy action.

Sure, there’s a remedial amount of pleasure I can derive from reading longing poems in the style of Latin poet Gaius Valerius Catullus entitled “Whisky Tango Foxtrot,” which is probably short for “Want to F—?” But potentially being involved in a Missed Connection? That would be schadenfreude gold; I just had to have it.

So I did a little research, and here is what I’ve discovered. You’ve got only two options for scoring some serious Missed Connections action in Ithaca: a TCAT bus route or the Teagle men’s locker room (in particular, the showers).  

Since I live at the base of a very small mountain, I take the bus to class pretty regularly, so I started my hunt there.

Most of the time, when I board the bus I make like a New Yorker, put on my dark sunglasses and avoid eye contact throughout my commute. But I’ve learned that despite our demographics, Ithaca is not the city and I will not be stabbed after looking in someone’s direction for more than 4.3 seconds. Confident I wouldn’t be killed, I stealthily removed my sunglasses and decided to check out my surroundings.

Believe you me: if you want some non-committal eye sex, the TCAT is where it’s at.

Now, I’m not going to lie when I say that I’m used to people staring at my chest because, let’s face it, I’m built like a stripper.

But I saw so many beady eyes darting around that bus, locking on any girl that would even glance in their direction, that it made even this humble writer feel like a piece of well-seasoned meat.

I got off a stop early at Milstein Hall and walked the rest of the way to MVR. If I were looking for that kind of action, I would have dropped out of high school and taken a job as an exotic dancer long ago.

The next most recurring location on the list was Teagle, and specifically the men’s shower room.

Obviously, there would be some issues with accessing this particular piece of athletic building real estate. Besides, as you can imagine, all of the Missed Conenctions in that region tended to be m4m (male for male), and that’s not really my department.

Elsewhere in the gym was as you would expect: schweddy, smelly and generally unpleasant. I want to meet the Missed Connections who rekindled their romance at the gym, because a relationship built on pit stains and fitness is a relationship that will stand the test of time.

Unfortunately, my research was a total bust. I didn’t feel any sparking connections that might inspire me to write angsty Craigslist posts about “longing your sea foam eyes, which made my hair stand on end and my thighs feel like they were about to burst,” hoping that special someone might send me an equally steamy e-mail in return. But if I see a post that reads: “m4f, 21, I’ve been singing arias to you every morning in the shower, hoping the gods of song will bring you back to me. If you remember our hot encounter on Route 10, e-mail me with the brand of shoes I was wearing,” I’ll be sure to let you know.  

Cristina Stiller is a senior in the College of Arts and Sciences. She may be reached at cstiller@cornellsun.com. Believe You Me appears alternate Mondays this semester.