Moderately romantic gesture by a yeti rumormonger

This sign was publicly posted, and I pass it almost every day. Now I put it on the internet, for the enjoyment of ages to come:

Last line reads: "P.S. I dropped the class and my back is now unscathed, thank you for caring."

I want to know more circumstances.

Who is moderatelyromanticgesture@gmail.com? 

How does the sign writer know Anne's last initial but not some other way to find her (facebook, twitter, university directory)?

Why 68%? Is this some reference to the circumstances of their meeting?

Why is 68% in blue? The author really splurged on color printing there.

Why not take the brush-off? There's a story hinted at here, where some people meet (possibly in a setting with nametags, so everyone has firstname-lastinitial identifiers), the author is charmed by Anne R., and she is not reciprocally charmed, so she manages to sneak off without giving out her number. The author, undaunted, initiates a passive but hopeful campaign to get her number.

Is the postscript sarcastic?

How did the author's back get scathed? What class-related activity is physically scathing?

Is the entire thing a honeypot for some psychology researchers who want to know how many people would respond to a moderately romantic gesture targeting someone else?

Please write your hypotheses in the comments below. Bonus points for creativity, using citations, identifying the location of the sign (have you seen one like it?), or emailing moderatelyromanticgesture@gmail.com and reporting what you find.

This post's theme word is onomancy, "divination by the letters of a name." An anagram of "moderately romantic gesture" is "yeti rumormongers acted late," one possible explanation of both why Anne refused to give her number, and why the author didn't manage to ask for it.

The most inconvenient temperature for precipitation

The ground is frozen and the water on the ground is part ice, part snow. Solid water, that is. But the air is slightly warmer and the precipitation is rain. Liquid water, that is. The temperature is hovering right around freezing, and the rate of precipitation is not enough to wash away the solid. It is not cold enough to freeze into (easily trampled) snow or ice, and not warm enough to dissolve the matrix holding the liquid in place.

What results is that the solid water is supporting the liquid water in a scaffold of slush. A sodden barricade which prevents all city drainage from working properly. The sidewalks are cold, sticky reservoirs supported on both sides by ridges from plowing and shoveling.

My winter boots are warm but not waterproof on the tops, so the slurry oozes in and collects around my foot. It is cold. My waterproof boots would fare no better, because although dry, they lack the insulation to protect me from walking through several inches of thick, icy goo. (I didn't get any photos, but the car tracks made a compelling case for snow tires, which parted the slush and gripped the ground, leaving a cleared trail behind.)

And through this, I commute.

This post's theme word is paseo, "a leisurely stroll," or "a place or path designed for walking," or "a street or boulevard." To avoid the slush paseo, I walked in the slushy street whenever possible.