The night of Adam: Without being sure what to expect, I was definitely nervous prior to the event.
The prospect of packing a “date” into six-minute segments felt stressful enough even if it went well, let alone if it was going poorly.
I sat down and waited for all the men to make their way from table to table.
The organizer said the 5-7 minutes we’d have with each person would go by quickly, and she was right.
I now had to choose my top five picks of the night.
If one or more of the men I chose also chose me, then we’d have a match. I was surprised and happy to see a crowd of decent diversity, the time went much quicker in practice than in theory, and it was refreshing to chat with people whom I might otherwise not approach or contact. To avoid perceptions of being rude, and because I felt like everyone could see my Score Card, I limited my notes to people’s names and a dot (or not) next to it, depending whether I was interested.
I not-very-creatively asked a lot of the potential matches if they’d done speed dating before, where they worked, etc. I didn’t feel sparks with anyone and some of the prospects’ jobs were more interesting than they were — I really wanted to learn more about this funeral director’s work, but, alas, our time was up — but it felt nice and less superficial to chat with people I’d ordinarily left-swipe.
I wrote down mini descriptions next to their names on my Date-Mate Scorecard to help me remember them: John*, works in sales, striped tie. After about two hours, I’d had mini dates with about a dozen men.
I’m used to it, despite the societal pressure that comes with being unmarried and childless at 32.
Like Jamila Woods sang, “I’m not lonely, I’m alone.
In any case, my results from Bumble, Tinder and Coffee Meets Bagel have been mixed, at best.
Instead of actual results with other human beings, I’ve spent more time instead considering how my photos look, what my bio says (and doesn’t say) and should I display my top Spotify artists? The process can be draining, especially with your phone at your fingertips.
There was the conservative preacher’s son I caught in a lie; the sensitive budding filmmaker who was kind and sweet, but ultimately not long-term relationship material; the social activist f---boy — the list goes on. I completely relate to the gray area Adam mentioned.