Speed

I have learned something about myself. I knew it already, but this really proved it. I suck at small talk. I'm either having a conversation or I'm not and I can not have a conversation in six minutes.

That was the deal. 10 men / six minutes each. My friend convinced me to go speed dating with her and I figured, "It's something different. Might as well see what it's like." I'll tell you what it's like. It's awkward, pointless and totally disorienting. Depending on whose on the opposite side of the table, six minutes can either go by in the blink of an eye or lasts an eternity.

It started off with the women sitting at numbered tables. We were given sheets of paper to write down names and make notes. There were little boxes to check either "yes" or "no". A guy sits down across from you and asks a series of generic "getting to know you" questions: Have you done this before? Where are you from? What do you do? After a 15 minute break of chicken fingers and wings, the men sat still and the ladies rotated around them.

Once in a while there would be some common denominator (oh you once lived in Michigan, too? I love movies, too) and a real conversation would start. Then the little bell would ring, we'd shake hands with a "Nice to meet you" and someone new would be sitting there across from you and the whole thing starts all over again. In the few moments in between "dates" I'd jot down some brief information so I could remember who the hell these people were:

"handlebar moustache, hypnosis"
"marine biologist"
"liquor license enforcer, thought I was a lawyer because of my glasses"
"leather jacket, jittery"
"blue sweater, skis"

Most of the people had done it before and for some reason decided it was worth doing again. I didn't get it. Maybe it was those particular selection of guys. Maybe it was the lame Wall Street bar. Maybe it was the dinging bell, the worksheet and the name tags, but there was nothing about it that was fun. It was all so FAST and yet so BORING.

I can have a 30 second flirtation in a bookstore or glance at someone on a subway platform and get a connection. More often than not, it's just that: a little twinge in the crotch, a slight raise in heart rate, a longer than usual look and a crooked smile, but at least it's a fun little moment. This was like work. It was like a job interview only with alcohol.

When I got home there were no less than three e-mails from the organizers telling me to check off my picks. I looked over my hastily scribbled notes and chose three I thought were... fine. Apparently "leather jacket, jittery" picked me, too.