dating on speed.

Ever had ten dates in one evening?

I recently ventured into the deepest corner of shame in the abyss of singlehood: speed dating.

In the hours leading up to the dating assembly line, I experienced persuasive pangs of doubt; why had I resorted to what was sure to be a futile exercise in dating desperation? I envisioned a painful, torturous evening that would act as a grating reminder of the bleakness of the local dating scene. I didn’t want to go. But I had signed up and (at the very least) I’d have fodder for an conversation with the girls.

I approached the evening with absolutely no preparation or expectations. It hadn’t occurred to me that most women attend these events with the moral support and company of girlfriends. I braved the potential whiplash of speed dating solo.

Upon arrival, I was informed that I was the first lucky lady to arrive, then handed a clip-on name tag and promptly sequestered into a dimly lit ‘holding room.’ Artificial topiary trees and tea lights conspired to create a romantic ambience, while animated Latin music screeched across over-head sound system.

After a few minutes of solitude spent fiddling with my name tag (which refused to remain right-side-up on my top) women began arriving in groups of twos and threes, and a waitress came to liquor us up.

We were each handed a small card with numbered lines. The evening’s perky female facilitator explained that the women would remain seated at their tables while the men would rotate around the circuit in five-minute intervals. We were instructed to write each date’s name on the card provided, and after each micro-date if we would like to have another (more conventional) date, we should indicate this on the card next to the man’s name. Men would do the same, and only double-matched would be given each other’s contact information.

Well, at least I could stay put. I squirmed in my chair to position myself so that I faced the door (good feng shui), and leaned away from the burning glare of the pot-light overhead. As I wriggled, a few unexpected butterflies fluttered around in my tummy.

Maybe Mr. Right could be found at speed dating…You can’t exactly pretend that you’re not looking for love when you plop yourself in the middle of a speed-dating circuit.

And so my first date entered the room - the butterflies fled and my stomach turned.

Sit across or beside? The roundish, squat balding man with a pronounced overbite fumbled with the chair opposite me, and then opted to sit next to me.

Have you ever noticed that affectionate actions performed by a man you are not even remotely attracted to are considered repulsive, whereas a hottie snuggling up to you in the exact same way would send you swooning?

I attempted not to cower visibly and began counting backwards from 300.

A flurry of interview questions bombarded my ears: “Have you ever done this before? What do you do? Do you like pets?” Oooh, no… Determined to be friendly, I rattled off answers to the battery of queries.

Finally, my angel of mercy (the evening’s facilitator) entered the room, signaling the men to move along to the next date.

Enter Embittered Reporter: A not-so-undercover journalist whipped out a tattered notepad and explained that this was his latest assignment: to infiltrate a speed-dating event. Licking the end of his ballpoint pen, he asked me if I minded if my name appeared in his article? Think again, buddy.

Enter Captain Morgan (curly moustache & all): He proceeded to explain that his job consisted of constructing the metal innards for clay figurines on a local children’s television show. I’m not sure what else he had to say, as I was overcome by the disbelief provoked by the twizzled facial hair above his prattling mouth.

Enter Embarrassingly Shy Clammy-Palmed Sloucher: Nothing to say; five minutes of supreme awkwardness.

Enter Video Game Aficionado: “Actually, I really don’t do anything except play video games.”

Halfway through the circuit and not one date of interest. Conceding to the harsh reality that there would be no sparks for me that particular evening, I found myself coaching this ‘date’, teasing out interesting facts from seemingly uneventful life.

“Come on,” I prodded, “ you’ve got to do something besides play video games. Can you cook? Women love men who can cook.” It’s not a good sign when I’m giving the guy tips on how to pick up the next girl in line. I must admit that my five minutes teaching ‘Talking to Live, Breathing Women 101’ was quite refreshing… dare I say even fun!?

Finally, the much-needed break; it was supposed to be a mingling opportunity, but the ladies escaped to the restroom, so as to avoid further contact with the dates from hell.

“Why don’t we all exchange numbers and ditch these guys?” A fellow speed dater exclaimed, bracing herself against the bathroom vanity.

I contemplated heading home to catch the last half-hour of The Apprentice, but resolved to tough it out, as such rudeness was bad karma. Back to the dating game… literally. The circus of very undesirable dates continued.

Despite the fact that all of the candidates failed to make my heart skip a beat, I managed to have an entertaining evening, meeting some interesting individuals who at least had enough courage and faith to step out on a limb for love.

I can’t recommend speed dating based on the results of my experience, but I can’t knock it completely either, as much of it seems to be the luck of the draw… but what else is new? You’ve got nothing to lose but your singlehood… and twenty bucks.