speed dating report

Sandi and I arrived at the bar what seemed a bit early to me.  The “dates” started at 7:30 and here it was only 6.  I thought it a bad idea to get liquored up before meeting my potential (victims) I mean boyfriends so I ordered a club soda with lemon and lime pieces dancing jovially in the bubbles.  I got the stink eye from Sandi and told her I’d drink something later, to take the edge off, but it was too early for me to hit the juice.  She doesn’t know about my problem and drinking a martini will only add fuel to my fire.  I asked her why we were here so early and she said she wanted to check out the competition.  Why not check out the prospects?  I wondered aloud.  Because the guys don’t arrive till right before the gig.  Figures.  I, being of the male-minded sort, would’ve preferred to arrive at 7:25 - which in my book is right on time.

We were each handed a card with numbered lines. The perky female hostess explained that the women would remain seated at their tables while the men would rotate around the circuit in five-minute intervals. Good.  Better that I get to see them walking.

We were instructed to write each date's name on the card provided, and after each mini-date if we would like to have a “real” date, we should indicate this on the card next to the man's name. Men would do the same, and only double-matched contestants would be given each other's information.  

Maybe Mr. Right could be found at speed dating: this is what Sandi wholeheartedly thought, wished and prayed for.  You can't pretend that you're not looking for love when you subject yourself to this circus.  Well I could think exactly that – that I wasn’t looking for love.  I was here for Sandi’s moral support.  Or was I?

So Bachelor Number One walked up to my table…  

To sit across or beside? That was the question.  The older, clumsy man fumbled with the chair opposite me, and then opted to sit next to me.  

Strange how human nature works when a man you are not attracted to somehow seems creepy, whereas a fine specimen doing the exact same thing could send feel-good shivers up your spine.  I attempted to smile sweetly and resisted the temptation to scoot my chair away from his.  It would only last 5 minutes after all.

The interview questions were fired off at great, speed: "Have you ever done this before? What do you do? Do you like pets?" Trying not to look at my watch, I rattled off my answers with a smile.

Enter Playboy of the Year: it was so obvious he came here to feed his ego by making girls want him.  Oh, and to get laid.  By all ten girls he meets tonight. Count me out, buddy. I know your type.  He actually said “Hey baby” when he sat down.  I downed the rest of my drink, smiled sweetly and asked what he did for work.  “Um, I’m between jobs right now.  What do you do?”  “I’m a butcher” I replied.  “Cool.  Bet you could get me a deal on some steaks?”  What?!!?

Next came Body Building Guy: He proceeded to talk about his fitness routine and weight lifting regimen.  Besides being bored out of my mind with the same crap I hear day in and day out from guys at the gym, he was completely wrong about everything he was doing.  It would’ve been so fun to tell him what would work better, but there was no room for me to bust into the one-sided conversation.  I glanced across the room at Sandi and she gave me the “thumbs up”.  I guess she thinks I like meat-heads…

Enter Embarrassingly Shy Accountant: Nothing to say; five minutes of excruciating awkwardness. I asked all the questions and he mumbled answers while turning a deeper shade of red after each one.  Going great so far...

Next up: Professional Student: "I really don't do much but go to school."

I decided to have a little fun.  This guy was probably 32 and was still in college.  It piqued my curiosity since I’ve never met someone like this although I’ve heard they exist. 

"Come on," I prodded, "you've got to do something besides go to school. Do you work? “No”  “How does that work out for you?  Where do you get spending money?” (I knew the answer before it was spoken)  “Well, I live with my folks.  I do odd jobs around the house and for neighbors too.”  “Oh, I see. So what happens when you meet a girl?  I mean do you just ask to go back to her place or do you take her home?” “Why?  Do you wanna hook up or something?” (yeah right)

Finally, the much-needed break; most of the ladies hid in the restroom, to avoid further contact with the dates from hell.  I walked straight up to the bartender, ordered another double and asked if it was always like this?

“If you want to meet different guys than what shows up for this thing, come down here on Friday for Happy Hour.  There's a lot of business men that come in to unwind after the work week.  Be here by 3 though.  They move on by 5:30.”

“Thanks for the tip”, I said and handed him his.  He smiled and winked at me as I got up to resume my spot in the Dating Game.  Was he trying to help me or himself by suggesting I come here on Fridays?

So the rest of the night was pretty much the same as the first half – none of the men made my heart skip a beat.  The last guy to come to my table was by far the best catch of the night.  He is my age, works at an advertising firm, cute in a goofy way, never been married, no kids, nice smile, made me laugh.  That was enough to put his name down as a possible future date.  Being the most normal-seeming one of the bunch, I’d bet $100 that he’d be busy with dates in over the next few weeks – probably every girl there wrote him in as a candidate.  As luck – or whatever – would have it, he put my name down too.  So we were a datable match.  I threw the paper in the trash as I left.  If he calls me, fine, but I don’t make it a habit to call men to ask them out.

When I got home there was a message on my answering machine from Jesse.  He wanted to meet for a drink one night soon.  He had some news he wanted to share.  I already knew what it was but I called him back and told him whenever he wanted to go out, I’d make the time for him.  He seemed really happy to get together.  I smiled as I got ready for bed.  Being friends with him used to be great.  Maybe after he married the sexual tension between us would ease up.