Nametags, a Timer and Singletons

Oh! Do I have a story for you today!

Last night I went to a Speed Dating event. You've probably heard or seen something on TV about this type of activity and know the basic premise: every 7 minutes or so, they ring a bell and the guys rotate to the next table where sits another single gal looking for a connection.

It did feel a bit like giving a quick sales pitch of myself, over and over again. I answered a lot of the same questions each time. But I was guaranteed to have 8 "dates" during the event. Unfortunately, I didn't feel a real connection with any of them, but I said "yes" to two with whom I at least had interesting conversation.

With a couple of guys, the seven minutes just seemed to drag by. I can talk to pretty much anyone, but there are some people who don't have a lot of social skills and conversation is stilted at best. But the absolute worst were the three I'll call Angry, Arrogant and Slimy.

Right before Angry sat down, the girl he'd just finished talking to gave me a warning look. Not bothering to introduce himself, he launched into a rant about the advertised age range for the event. He asked me what age range I'd signed up for and said that everyone he'd talked to so far (I was the third girl) had a different answer. [So you're wasting your seven minutes with each girl ranting about this? Great impression.] I calmly explained to him that for this event, I noticed on the website that there were different age ranges for girls (28-36) and guys (31-39). That pacified him somewhat, but he was still incensed about one guy who seemed older than 39 (referring to Slimy, and I agree, he probably is older than 39). But what does it matter to him? Isn't he there to meet girls? At least that seven minutes was up quickly.

The guy I'm calling Arrogant sat down and introduced himself like a normal person. I thought he had nice eyes. But in exchanging our professions and finding a slight overlap of areas, he proceeded to tell me what I should know to do my job. I guess he thought he was impressing me, but he was rude and conceited. He didn't really take the time to listen to what I do, just started telling me what he knows and how I should look into it. I was recruited up here for my job because of my expertise, you arrogant a**hole! Then he asked if I like baseball. Um, not really. I find it a really slow, boring sport (of course I said it in a less negative way). He got a stony look on his face and pretended to get up to leave the table right then (not that I would have minded). Then he tells me how he's just exhausted, having just returned from a work-related trip in Scandinavia, obviously bragging about his world-traveler status. He said he really didn't want to come tonight because he was so tired and just couldn't wait to get home and sleep. (I'm not stopping ya....)

But the absolute worst of the evening was Slimy. I had noticed him slink into the room at the beginning, and his smarmy smiles and overly slicked-back thinning hair didn't appeal to me. But add to the visual the following rapid fire questions:
"Are you divorced?" [and barely was Yes out of my mouth before he asked...]
"What happened? Did he cheat on you? Did you cheat on him? Was it money? You know the top two reasons why people get divorced are infidelity and money." [No, that wasn't the case.]
"Do you want to have kids?" [Yes, I hope to someday.]
"Oh, you will." [Well, I hope so. If not, I'll adopt or something.]
"CAN you have kids?" [Well, I hope so, but you never know until you try, right?]
"Have you been practicing? You should practice a lot." [uncomfortable smile and silence from me]
"Hey, I want you to know something about me. I'm a World Class Cuddler. And Spooner. I love to cuddle. I just thought you should know that. I'm the best at cuddling and spooning." [Ok. Good to know.]

Unfortunately for me, the host got distracted during this particular time period, and after giving us the 1 minute warning, he talked to the bartender and let us go for another 3 minutes. Oh. My. God. I couldn't wait to get rid of that guy.