Me, A Subway Creep?

This happened a few days ago.  I had been fighting a bad cold since the middle of March and had rarely ventured outdoors in all that time excepting short walks within the neighborhood to acquire such basic necessities as medicine, microwavable soups, crackers and lactose-free milk.  Then, having at last overcome the worst of the symptoms, I felt mostly ready to re-start my normal routines and boarded a subway train for the first time in over two weeks.

As it turned out, I had somewhat overestimated my recovery, and the short trip to the metro station had already taken its toll by the time the train arrived.  As I gratefully poofed down onto my seat and the train took off, my gaze was drawn to the attractive young woman sitting across from me (the quest for beauty is ever intrinsic to the artist's soul).  She was engrossed in a book and paid me not the slightest whit or jot of attention, which was fine with me -- I wouldn't need to pretend to look away in case she noticed me s̶t̶a̶r̶i̶n̶g̶ looking.

I then noticed a ball-point pen on the floor next to her foot.  I guessed she must have dropped it and decided to alert her.  I extended my arm and waved my hand, but she did not notice me.  I snapped my fingers, also to no avail.  I called out, "Excuse me" to her, but I guess I should have said it more loudly, my voice was swallowed up by the train noise and she still did not hear me.

Then this older man sitting one seat over from her (the seat between them was empty) noticed me gesticulating at her like an idiot.  Following my gaze and realizing what I was trying to do, he said something to her.  And yes, this time she did hear him;  she looked down, picked up the pen and thanked him.

And no, the old man did not acknowledge me.  I suppose I could have glared at him and made him uncomfortable, but that would have been petty of me.