When set-ups, blind dates, and down-the-block crack heads don't work out, why not go for the gold...or the stop watch. That's right — I'm talking speed dating (was there really something you thought I wouldn't try?).
I tend to do things for the story, and this was no exception. After some rather painstaking convincing, one of my girlfriends agreed to join me for a night of five-minute-mystery — as long as I was paying. Before I even got the go-ahead from her, I booked our date night. I was ready for a buffet of
douchebags dudes. So as to avoid important bar nights (e.g. ladies nights, potential real date nights, and the-hot-bartender-is-working nights), I signed us up for a Monday event (pre-football season, of course).
We started getting ready, and at one point, caught each other's gaze, exchanging the "what are we getting ourselves into" look. We were committed, though. Well, I was committed; she was in it for the free
booze entertainment. We remained mildly optimistic in regard to how the night would end up as we cabbed it to the west side.
When we walked in, I made a beeline for the bar, and the event coordinators approached us with an apology — they were overbooked on men. I'm sorry, since when is an uneven guy-girl ratio in women's favor something to apologize for? Apparently, I wasn't really listening to their full confession because as my friend and I ordered our first round at we-really-went-through-with-this cocktail hour she told me she would be leaving after this round. They weren't just overbooked on guys - they upped the age limit for them. We arrived thinking we would be surrounded by gentlemen within a reasonable age bracket, but instead, found that the prospects now included significantly graying heads.
I convinced her to stay through offerings of vast quantities of liquor (we are friends for a reason). I explained that I had often considered a life of
laziness leisure, and maybe one of these men could become my J. Howard Marshall. A girl can dream. She assumed I was joking about moving to Florida with my future terminally ill husband, as the evening started.
It was every bit as awkward as you could imagine. I had hoped Will Smith would show up at some point and liven things up, but he clearly had better things to do. Of course, I ended up entertaining myself for most of the evening — making up new stories for each potential suitor, each story more aggressive than the next. They did keep the booze flowing, after all.
At the end of the evening, everyone was asked to rate the people you enjoyed out of everyone you met, and if you both rated each other at all, the guy would be given your email address. I wanted to keep things simple and opted to only rate the oldest
and feeblest looking guy I met. I received an email from him two days later.
We had the pleasure of meeting Monday evening at speed dating. I enjoyed spending time with you and was pleased that you were interested in continuing our dialogue. If I remember correctly, you have friends visiting from out-of-the country for a few more days. Therefore, I wanted to invite you to join me for a drink after work tomorrow or Friday evening. Do either of those days work for you?
By the way, I would prefer to actually talk to you and hear the sound of your voice rather than communicating via e-mail. My phone # is (917) ***-****. If you are comfortable sending your number, I will give you a call so we can chat.
Have a great day.
After no response, he emailed again four days later. You know, just in case the first was never received.
We had the pleasure of meeting at the speed dating event last week. I'm not sure if you received the previous message I sent from my work e-mail account, so I wanted to try again using my yahoo account.
I enjoyed our conversation and thought you had a great sense of humor. I look forward to seeing you again and wanted to invite you to join me for a drink after work. Please advise regarding your availability."Continuing our dialog." "Prefer to actually talk." "Please advise." This dude obviously didn't understand how to appropriately flirt via email nor how to elicit a response of any kind. Did he remember meeting me at all (I mean, obviously he did since he complimented my sense of humor)?Surely I hadn't implied I was a lady
I realized that, sure, I wouldn't mind a life a leisure, but if it came with saggy balls and zero personality, I'd pass. I mean, his emails weren't terrible, but they were a bit too bland for my liking. All he had to do was insult me once or twice, and I would've been putty in his veiny, sun-spotted hands. Guess the only logical next step is Bingo night - do they serve booze in nursing homes?