No Need for Speed

In my opinion, the only thing wrong with the concept of speed dating is that the time doesn’t speed by fast enough. I know this because a few days ago, I pried myself away from my computer, tossed my agoraphobia aside, and attended a speed-dating event to prove I could finally find a date in Los Angeles, and keep a man’s attention for at least 3 minutes.

So that morning, rather than being annoyed by my neighbors less than stellar saxophone playing, I opened my windows and invited her “music” into my world. I suppose listening to her struggle with the notes quietly comforted me while I struggled with the idea of paying $35 to meet men.

Anyway, somewhere between drinking my morning coconut water and driving down the 101 headed towards the big event that evening; I got use to the idea of paying for love. But, I found myself wondering what would happen if I actually met the man of my dreams in 2 minutes or less. Would this be our “how we met” story, or would we feel compelled to concoct a new scenario? Or, what if the guy I liked was only there to write an expose on speed dating, and not in the least bit interested in meeting his soul mate? Perhaps my anti-social disease wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

As soon as I walked into the lounge, I ordered my special lemonade libation—lemons, Splenda, and vodka. Unfortunately, rather than calming my nerves, my drink made me manic because it was actually lemonade. Apparently, when I said vodka, the bartender didn't hear me and I ended up with a glass of sugar water rather than a glass of liquid courage.

But, instead of wasting my sugar high, I used it to talk up the restaurant manager, event coordinator, the assistant event coordinator, and a bitter, blond European woman smoking in the back of the room. Basically, what I wanted to know was quite simple--should I stay or should I go? And, more importantly, was a man’s phone number worth $35? Surprisingly, the restaurant manager was the only one who thought I should stay and said I’d make a killing because I was wearing a great outfit AND resembled Janet Jackson from her days on the 80s show "Fame". I didn’t know whether to thank him or ask where I could buy a bottle of Aquanet.

After pumping up the volume on my 80s hair and adjusting my shoulder pads, I found my seat at the “older professionals” table. The woman seated next to me, wearing Lee jeans and a Charter Club type blouse, reminded me of the secretary from The Bob Newhart Show. On my other side was a woman who looked like she was probably the former president of her high school 4-H club. Was I in their league or were they in mine?

In any event, before I could finish assessing the attributes of my other competitors, the whistle blew and the dating commenced. With stealth like moves, three older gentlemen descended upon our table and for the first time that evening, I was absolutely speechless.

While Bob’s secretary was busy telling her date that she was a high school principal, I was busy staring blankly into the eyes of Garrett Morris’ clone. Luckily, sensing I was nervous or simply not interested, he started asking me general, harmless questions about my life. And, even though I had no real interest in this man who was old enough to be my father, I decided to play along.

Not only was Garrett previously married; he was also widowed with 2 pre-teens at home. Now aside from being a bit needy in relationships, I also admit to occasionally lacking an internal censor when I’m nervous or at a loss for words. Much like when I asked Garrett if his kids were hoping that he brings home a new mommy. Did I actually say that? More importantly, if I did, did he hear me, and would he actually respond? He did and stoicly replied, “My kids wished me good luck and it was nice talking to you.”

As luck or LA statistics would have it, there were more women than men, and the event ended sooner than expected. But, even though I was pretty sure I didn’t get my $35 worth of conversation or potential dates, I learned a valuable lesson that night ... I have all the speed I need as I live my life in the slow lane.