When my Brazilian co-worker, Maria, asked me last week over lunch to go speed dating with her, I didn’t so much as lift my head from my minestrone soup before I uttered, “Hell no.” I hate dating to begin with, let alone having to endure ten of them in one night. Hell no.
“But it’s just for fun. We’re not going to be serious about it. Pleaseeeee,” she retorted. Poor Maria. A fellow 30 something single girl, she recently had a baby, and a break up with the baby daddy followed soon after. It was clear that she was desperate for a night out to reclaim her prior social life. And I guess I was too because I finally said yes. You just can’t say no to a postpartum woman who’s sleep and man deprived. Okay, and I must admit that I am not in the best place to turn down an invitation no matter how undesirable it may seem. I’m in a brand new city and literally know two people here. I’m bored and lonely and eager to make Maria my friend.
Maria said she would organize everything, and that she did. That very moment. I was told to expect an email later that afternoon, an email that would ask me to confirm my details. Within 2 hours, the email came through, and I quickly replied as my students were taking their reading quizzes. When I got home that night, I re-opened the email to check out the date and location for the speed dating event. If was going to partake in such a ridiculous endeavor, I was at least going to make sure I got my dress dry-cleaned ahead of time. But to my horror, I realized I had made a rookie mistake—the mistake I beg my students to correct each day. Always read carefully. Here I had just confirmed my details to have an interview with a MATCHMAKER!
If this wasn’t speed dating, was it then a sick joke? Maria’s idea of hazing me at my new job? Were other co-workers in on this? As I went along reading more of the fine print and researching the website, I concluded that not only was I an oblivious idiot but also that Maria needed some help with her English. She had mistaken a matchmaking service that specializes in quick, casual lunch blind dates for lunchtime speed dating. Clearly I was going to send that girl back to ESL 1.
With it being too late in the evening to cancel the matchmaker, I prepared a speech to give her at the start of our phone interview the next morning. My friend, you see, she’s Brazilian and still has difficulties with translating. She accidentally signed me up for the wrong service and then I inadvertently confirmed the email on my phone while I was driving and I know texting while driving is bad, and I’m sorry for this confusion. Have a good day. I rehearsed these lines throughout the night, hoping that the matchmaker would have a sense of humor and let me off the hook easily. She did indeed do just that….
BECAUSE SHE NEVER CALLED! I got ditched by the matchmaker—a matchmaker I didn’t even want in the first place. I wasn’t sure whether to feel a sense of relief or a sense of rejection. It’s bad enough that I can’t find a decent guy to follow through with dating me, but now I can’t even get the professional—the professional whose job it is to take my money in order to find a guy who will follow through with dating me—to not blow me off. I might as well save myself the trouble and just move into my sister’s attic now. (That’s my version of the old woman with cats plan).
The day passed and still no word from the matchmaker. The weekend passed and still no word. Monday passed and nothing. Out of my sheer need to not feel like such a loser (and maybe because I needed a distraction so I wouldn’t go crazy while sitting in DC traffic) I called the matchmaker this morning. She answered and said that she was literally just about to call me back. Yeah, sure. I was shocked that she skipped the whole ‘let me give you an overview of my services’ or ‘what are you looking for’ chitchat and went straight in for the kill—“Let me ask you a few questions to see if YOU are compatible with my services.” Me? Wasn’t this about finding a compatible man? Why do I have to pass a test in order to have you find me dates? I stiffened up, my body clearing take preemptive offense to the psychological test I was about to fail. I was going to have to avoid being classified as an emotionally deficient or damaged woman, and I was going to have to come up with a good explanation for why I was single or what went wrong all of these years. Maybe it’s best to lie. Maybe I had a long term boyfriend in the Marines who was away for 5 years serving our country, got PTSD, and wasted my youthful 20s away. Maybe my fiancé disappeared on a cruise ship, like the stories you see on those missing persons shows. Or maybe I was too busy working for the Peace Corp in Bostwana to have a relationship. The possibilities were endless….
But my stories were unnecessary. The matchmaker started with a simple question: “Do you smoke?”
“Nope!” (insert sigh of relief here). This isn’t so bad. I am clearly going to pass this test.
Question two: “How tall are you?”
“Ummm, 5’10.” The umm followed by an awkward pause wasn’t the result of me not knowing my height or being ashamed of it. It was the anticipation of the next question, the follow up that all tall girls get.
“Does it bother you to date a shorter man?”
“Why yes, yes it does.” Okay, I really didn’t give her such an honest blunt answer. Instead, I stuttered my way through the most inarticulate response.
“Well, ummm I’m 5’10 so height is kinda sorta something I look for, but if he’s like my height but not too skinny then yeah but just not too thin. I don’t want to feel like I’d crush him. But yeah, okay I’d be open.” Open to what? I was even confused the second I heard my response come out of my mouth.
“Why don’t you tell me what size you are? I’m trying to understand you.”
“I’m a size 8” I blurted out in a defensive tone, figuring that this woman thought I was a beast with that ‘don’t want to crush him’ comment.
“Oh, so you’re skinny. But you just don’t want a smaller, metrosexual build, correct?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Well, let me look through my database and see if you would be a good fit for us. I must be honest—most of the men in my system are about 5’8’ or 5’9’. Now my best friend is 6’2’’ (a girl) and I matched her up with her husband, who is 5’10. But she’s not the type who was bothered by height. In fact, most men aren’t It’s usually the women who don’t like to be taller.”
“I just don’t want to feel like a giant,” I responded in a most dejected tone. I was going to get kicked out of the fancy matchmaker service before I even got in just because I want a man who is taller than me?!?!?! Is that really so much to ask? Is DC a city of horse jockeys?
“I understand, but I need to see if I have any men who match your requirements. I don’t know that you are compatible with our clients. I’ll get back to you.”
Compatible? Me compatible? This woman knows nothing about me other than my height and size, and I’m already a compatibility concern? I didn’t even ask for that much. Just that I didn’t want a short guy. And I didn’t even give her the mental checklist I had planned and stored for the matchmaker, where I expressed my need for a cross between Bradley Cooper and Vince Vaughn, with a dash of Brody Jenner.
She ended our conversation on the most hopeless of terms, “If you don’t hear from me by tomorrow, then assume there you are not the best fit for my service.”
Stay tuned….
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