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Article about speed dating vs online dating:
S. I Love You
A funny short story about a man’s awkward real-life first date tips and stories on his first encounter with speed dating
Why Speed Dating is Better than Online Dating. A man’s awkward real-life first date tips and stories.
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My heart is beating 190 beats faster than usual. I can feel the nervousness in the way I take my steps, in the way my hand stumbles for the bar door. I feel unsure. Should I go? The steps go down into a basement bar. It reads, “The Suite.” I hate public speaking. I hate beating the social anxiety of talking to new people. I hate it until it I don’t (then I actually love it). But the truth is, I’m still single, I’m 40, and I need and want to meet new people. I want to be un-single. But being un-single means, I need to let go of what “I think this dating thing is going to be and look and feel like.” I need to let go of the stigma of what I think speed-dating should be. Online dating is becoming laborious. I’m sick of it. Of waiting to meet fictional people that never really look like their profiles. Sick of wondering who that person really was after my four “very original” questions creeped them out. I mean, what, why can’t you ask someone what their reason for existence is or what five qualities they are most proud of about themselves in the first five texts? I’m failing at the dating game — authenticity scares people. People are just afraid to trust strangers with being themselves these days. But I get it. I need to be in person to ask real questions. I need real interactions and body language and maybe another big glass of tequila. “Hello. Yes. Welcome. Are you here for the speed dating?” “Well, here, let me get you a pen and a pad, and I’ll explain what’s going to go down.” “I feel like my heart is about to explode,” I blurt out. I shut my eyes briefly and envision my heart maxing out at 200 as I explode into a heart supernova of blood and guts and arteries flopping around like baby worms on the walls of this suave dim-lit bar. “What’s your name?” “Welcome Art. I’m Michelle. You have nothing to be worried about — everyone here came for the same reasons as you — to meet new people,” she says, smiling. “Well, that’s good news,” I say, looking around for the women. I see a larger broad-shouldered woman chewing her fingernails in the corner. Oh God, what is happening here. I take a seat at the bar, and Michelle hands me a pen and pad of paper that has lines and checkboxes. It’s glossy and official. Four lines and boxes read different things, “I fancy a go.” I can’t remember the other three. I guess that’s the only one I care about. Who will “I fancy a go,” with? I get five choices, and I’ll meet upwards of 20 women. They will meet 30 men, and then make their five choices. The odds aren’t good, I realize, but who cares, just let nature takes its course. But there must be some sort of strategy my conscience warns me. Like, wear peacock feathers or a top hat or something. Right as I think it, a small Asian man with a glitter-green sport jacket walks past me. Right as I get up to leave, the woman in the corner chewing her fingernails gets up, probably late twenties, walks toward me and pushes her straight blonde hair behind her ears and orders a vodka soda. I look at her and wait for her to look at me. She ignores my attempt. She seems agitated — like she’s been fired from her job or something. “You here for the dating thing?” I ask. “Cool, me too. I watched a Netflix show on it — Dating Around — and thought, well this should be fun. I should do something like that before I die. Have you seen it?” “No, do you watch a lot of dating shows?” “No,” I laugh. “But that one was recommended to me, and I must say, it’s very well done.” “Well, great,” she says, picking up drink and returning back to her seat. “Good luck out there today,” I whisper somewhat sarcastically. A man with a blue collared shirt and jeans sits down next to me and next to him a small Peruvian man that flies regional planes for any airline that will hire him. “Everyone is cutting back he says.” I ask him if there is a lot of math in becoming a pilot and he smiles and says yes. He cheeks are full, and he reminds me of a cute little field mouse stuffing an acorn into his mouth. “Have you done this before,” he asks. “No. My first time — you?” I ask back. The other man with the short brown hair and tinted glasses and carpenter jeans nods “yes” with us. I listen to them talk about things, and I nod my head, but really, I can’t even hear what they are saying. I know in my heart of hearts, in a short amount of time, my gauntlet of talking to women I don’t know will start. This is tough. This is really tough. Like what do I say? What’s the strategy here? I look over my shoulder. “Hi. I’m Michelle. You have five minutes with each woman, and then you move to the next person. If you like someone, please make a mark to remember them by and go from there. In the end, I’ll collect your cards, and you’ll be notified of when you have a match,” I hear her telling another man at the bottom of the staircase next to me. She is sweet — 5’9, blondish brown and curvy. I’d like to ask her out. She tells and helps people learn how to play a speed-dating game that feels more like a torture game show. Did I pay 35 dollars for this? Shouldn’t you be paying me to do this? But I’m game. I’m down for new experiences. And growing. And learning about myself. And about new people. I don’t know what I’m doing, and that’s okay, I remind myself over and over and over.
speed dating vs online dating