| that one time i went speed dating |
A few years ago, when I still lived in New York, my friend asked me if I would go speed-dating with her because she didn't want to go alone. Her offer was pretty enticing- "It's free," she said. "And there will be liquor and snacks." I don't remember exactly how I responded but I bet it was somewhere along the lines of "YUM I LOVE TASTY FREE HAPPY FUN BOOZE TIMES."
We decided to meet a few minutes before the event started and walk in together. And here is where my poor planning began. See, my friend showed up in a cute green top, nice jeans, and heels. I had worked all day nannying so I showed up in playclothes covered in yogurt and baby spit. What, boys don't like that? I think my outfit sent messages like "Wow, I sure am somewhat competent with children, or I at least am allowed to be near them a lot," or "Why no, that's not impetigo. I think it's banana bread batter...or paint...or shaving cream...I don't remember." You know how it goes.
Anyway, my friend was the one who had signed us up for this business, so I met her outside, immediately offered excuses for my outfit, and sheepishly followed her in.
There was a reception table staffed by three very lovely and attractive people who asked if my friend and I would like to be seated near one another. We said yes, which I believe to be the beginning of my friend's undoing. You see, I'm pretty sure they took one look at panting, sticky, misguided me and banished us to what I like to call Busted Girls Corner. It was the one dark, dank spot in the whole well-lit room.
And the room was pretty, indeed. Most of the other female daters had been placed in romantic, cozy, velvet-lined booths with whimsical light fixtures. They deserved it too. They had known better than to consider melted crayon near your eyebrow "a kind of makeup." So they were all dolled up and presented like some sort of Jane Austen/Red Light district hybrid while I was sent to squat on what seemed to be a milk crate under a spiderwebby fake ficus.
My friend was at least offered a chair, but she was guilty by association so it wasn't in the pretty, softly lit area of the room. It was like we walked in and they said "Um, miss? Seriously? Make an effort. Until then, into the dungeon corner with you. Try not to look at the guys directly or breathe when they're around. Give dignity a shot sometime, okay?"
I didn't mind. I had it coming. I felt sorry for my friend though.
So anyway, the way this speed dating thing works is you park your ass on a milk crate armed with a dull pencil (so you cannot effectively stab yourself in order to get out early) and a slip of paper with names on it. Every two or three minutes, a new gentleman saunters over to introduce himself to you and if he's dreamy you thrust blindly (not literally) for some sort of connection, or if he's terrifying you play Baby Elephant March in your head until the bell rings and he goes away again. Well. This is what happens when I do it. How I managed to be nearly thirty and unmarried mystifies us all.
The first guy who came over to me said, no joke, "So, I take it you aren't on the Jamaican bobsled team?" Before he said hello or anything. He said that. And waited for an answer. "Well." I said. "Well, no. Um. No. Why, are..are you?"
"No!" He said indignantly, as though I'd asked if he was up for eating a scab or two after this was all over. "I'm KOREAN." Believe it or not, but things went downhill from there. "I think we are done," I said.
No matter though because "DING!" And along came a new man.
"Wow!" He said when he sat down. "Hey, wow! You have really white, straight, even teeth! I heard that's something you should look for in a female!" (When I told my mom about that later, she tittered and said "I think he got you confused for a horsey.")
"Oh, thanks." I said, my awkwardness exploding by several orders of magnitude. "I brush!"
I was taking notes the whole time, because it was a good chance to break eye contact with people, and reviewing them later I realized what a judgey hobag I am. My notes say stuff like:
"tour guide" (I remember this one- this guy started his own tour guide company in New York but had only been able to sell tours to his parents thus far. Hope business has picked up, Jazon! (and that is how he really spells his name))
"I think he's 11"
"Gaston!"
"Wine teeth"
"Lazy eye"
"Fuck no!"
"What is wrong with his cologne!? It smells like the inside of my fridge when the power went out."
"Economist my ass."
"Clearly gay"
"clearly gay"
"CLEARLY gay"
"Greencard!"
"Your job isn't real."
"Your fly is open."
"Where are your eyeballs??" (I remember this guy too- he was so, so, so very stoned. Couldn't keep his eyes open.)
And of course, this one:
"VISIONIST"
This guy told me that he was a professional visionist. pop quiz. do you think this job most closely resembles that of a
a) interior designer
b) ophthalmologist
c) wedding planner
d) fake ass shit pile
If you picked D, you are correct! When I asked that guy what he did for a living, he replied "I'm a visionist."
"What's that?"
"I help you discover your vision."
"Like, vision vision?" I said, gesturing vaguely at my eyes.
"No. Like your inner vision."
"I'm afraid I don't quite understand."
He rolled his eyes and sighed with a little more attitude than I found appropriate in someone with a fake job, and said "You see, let's say that all your life you had dreamed of being a dancer. But somewhere along the way, you lost that dream. I would help you rediscover your dream"
"Oh! So like I'd realize I had always wanted to be a dancer but I'm currently a CEO and I don't know how to make that transition- you'd help me figure it out."
"NO." More sighing. "That would be the job for the life coach. I'm the VISIONIST."
"So you would be the one to tell me that I'd always wanted to be a dancer?"
"Sort of. I would be-"
"I don't care anymore."
Okay, I didn't actually say that last part. I'm too polite. But I should have!
Anyway, it will come a surprise to nobody that the whole thing was a bust. I did NOT meet the love of my life there.
But I got this story out of it!
To close, here is a picture of my friend Laura and me when we got sunburns wandering around the zoo. I am destined to never ever ever be glamorous. I'm the one on the right.
 Labels: accidents, friends, help my brain is weird, this is why i don't have a boyfriend, when it's okay to kick a person in the crotch |
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| 14 Comments: |
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I think I met that horsey-appreciation dude sometime last month.. his exact words were.. "omeffinggod you are so brown man.. that's soo um different like"... I believe he wasn't referring to my teeth. you should post pictures of your allegedly white straight teeth, you should.
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You're the most adorable sun roasted wanderers! Considering I once defended using beer in my hair as a styling product (true story), I think banana bread batter is a great perfume.
Now excuse me as I call my visionist.
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Awwww. Sad faces.
I'm a little mad that you waited years to tell this story.
But I forgive you because your mom said "horsey."
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I heart you!
I love the part about the visionist!
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Even all sunburney (sorry about that) you are the most physically perfect woman on the internets. I love your stories. I admire your smartness; maybe after being a doctor for a while you could write for/star in a tv show that centers on these exact anecdotes. I'd watch.
~ Piney
Word verification of the day: Spers. "Pas the brocoli spers plz"
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manu- I'm glad to see he's traveled a bit. What a goon, eh?
Girl- let me know what he sees your vision as being.
Pdw- sometimes i forget about things for a while. or repress them, whatever you choose.
iw- i heart you too! i do NOT heart the visionist.
piney, you are a self-esteem-building angel. Spers. Brtny n jmeelyn spers.
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Oh my lord. This really really really makes me want to try speed dating. If only for the stories that will inevitably come from it.
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I still have tears in my eyes from reading your list of notes about the scary-ass men you met. "Your job isn't real" is easily my favorite. :)
For the love of God, break out the Noxzema for those burns! Silly girls without the sunscreens and hats of much floppiness. ::shaking friendly but judge-y finger at you:: :)
I think it's funny that my word verification, um, word is "berat." Like berate. But spelled wrong. :D
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Joy- DO IT. AND THEN WRITE IT.
Max- I know, I'm so dumb. When will I learn that I am the whitest girl on the planet and the sun is my kryptonite?
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A Lover and a Fighter,
You're welcome. Otherwise well spelled.
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Hilarious! Speed dating sounds like a riot.
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That is hysterical!!
Visionist.
That's my new word for the year.
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Name: A Lover and a Fighter
Home: New York, NY
About Me: "It is a very sad thing that nowadays there is so little useless information."
-Oscar Wilde
See my profile...
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TackODing font
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I think I met that horsey-appreciation dude sometime last month.. his exact words were.. "omeffinggod you are so brown man.. that's soo um different like"... I believe he wasn't referring to my teeth. you should post pictures of your allegedly white straight teeth, you should.