Bronx Man Uses "Please Date Me" Sign in Search for Love Adam Orna, 39, of the Bronx, in Union Square Park. Mr. Orna, who says he is tired of waiting for love to find him, hands out cards, and on some days roses, to women he greets on the street. His life, to anyone who comes across him as he sits in Union Square Park, is not exactly a complete mystery. Adam Orna is single and marriage-minded. He makes $55,000 a year, plus benefits. He is a marathon runner and a vegetarian. And he is not shy about any of it, putting all of these details on a board, along with his crystal-clear motive: "Please Date Me." Mr. Orna, a 39-year-old postal worker who lives in the Parkchester section of the Bronx, said that he felt time was slipping away, and that he no longer wanted to wait for companionship to find him. He took his search to the streets - Seventh Avenue, in the fashion district, is another common destination - in July after growing distraught at the prospect of turning 40 alone. "I decided, after trying everything, it was time to advertise myself," he said. The bar and club scenes never paid off. Neither did a dating Web site. So he decided to try something different, something that at worst could be a conversation starter. He sometimes wears a nice suit, sleeves rolled up, and hands out roses to women. "Hello beautiful, care for a rose?" is a frequent opening, as is a friendly wave accompanied by his boyish smile. Women tend to ignore his advances, but he is polite and soft-spoken, never handling rejection badly. That resilience is a good thing, for rejection tends to come in bunches. Last Sunday, Mr. Orna sat in Union Square Park, near its northwest entrance. His hair was neatly combed, and he wore his gray suit, but he did not have his customary roses. He did not have time to buy any. Families and couples walked past him. Some smiled at the sign, as if it were a playful joke. Others appeared more concerned. A man, preparing to leave the park's playground with his family, called out to Mr. Orna. "How's it going?" he asked. No good? "No luck yet," Mr. Orna replied. I'll keep trying. Outside of Mr. Orna's listening range, the man, his wife and her friend voiced their opinions. "I don't know what his motives are," said Christine Minas, who said she initially thought Mr. Orna's board was a piece of art. David Valazzi said. And you'd trust someone online? "Desperation is not attractive - you want what you can't have," Mr. Valazzi's wife, Carol DerSarkissian, said. But you know what? Some woman will be fed up and want someone nice and stable. Someone who doesn't want to play games anymore, and maybe that's who he's appealing to. Mr. Orna had introduced himself to her, she said. I told him I'm married and have two kids. He gave her a card with his information - he keeps a small stack of them in his shirt pocket - and said she could give it to a friend. In an era where nearly anyone's background can be checked on Google, perhaps there is some logic in Mr. Orna's rather public methods. For Mr. Orna, a search yielded his running background and newspaper articles detailing a teenage indiscretion: an arrest for which he received community service. At his post, Mr. Orna dutifully greeted passing women and ignored the occasional pedestrians who laughed at him. "It's like fishing," he said. Some days you get something. Some days, nothing. He expanded on his reasons for creating the board. "There have been nights I've cried I was so lonely," he said. You've got a good job, good hobbies, but what good is it if there's no one to share it with? "And so you turn," he pointed to the sign, "to desperate things." When an excited woman approached him, there seemed to be promise. I love it," she exclaimed. Then she asked, "Can I take a picture, please?" She snapped a photo. He got up to introduce himself. "I like your ring," he told her, but she was already walking away. Mr. Orna prepared to leave as evening approached. He had given out over a dozen cards, greeted many women, but had not gotten one number. He said he would try again in the coming week. "Don't wait for it to fall into your lap," he said of companionship. Go out and pursue it. It won't fall into your lap. Trust me.