Dating Blur

On weekend visits home, I can always count on finding news clippings in the hall tree drawer that my mom slipped there for me. When I was looking for work, I found piles of job ads. When I thought I wanted to teach dancing, lists of every studio in town appeared. As the relationship with my boyfriend of eight months became rockier, I found articles that had anything and everything to do with dating. On more than one occasion I found an advertisement for SpeedDating.
The theory behind SpeedDating is that we humans know within the first few minutes whether we click with someone or not. Organizers gather a large group of Jewish singles in one room who then go on several minidates in 90 minutes, talking to seven different people for seven minutes each time.

I had a hard time accepting the idea. I wanted to meet someone in a great-story-for-our-future-children kind of way, like bumping into each other at a crosswalk or while choosing cheese at the grocery store. Even a dainty little fender bender would do. The SpeedDating thing seemed so contrived.

But after a few months passed, I was on the verge of breaking up with my boyfriend and warmed to the idea. I read an ad for the biggest SpeedDating event ever on the West Coast set for Christmas Eve. I bit the bullet and decided to go. After all, unless you put yourself in an environment where you can meet people, rubbing elbows with Mr. Right in L.A. is as likely as finding Sunset Boulevard street parking on a Saturday night.

Without telling a soul, I drove to the El Rey Theater in the dark of night, a woman with a mission. I imagined myself a modern Dorothy, traveling down a yellow brick road toward single men.

I felt a little weird walking past the hundred or so people standing in line. There was no hiding. Eyes darted with the almost tangible question: Could you be the one?

Event coordinators divided people into groups according to their age, split between 20-30 and then 30-40.

I was expecting that we would be split up from 25 to 35. Being 24, I imagine someone younger than 25 to be too young and someone older than 35 to be, well, too old. The girl next to me, who had just turned 30, was in the same quandary. The event coordinators convinced me to go with the younger batch.

Soon after, someone cornered me with an inane conversation about concrete. My wandering eyes soon caught a cute guy standing with his friend just a few feet away.

“Excuse me while I say hello to someone I know,” I said to Mr. Concrete.

I walked over and started talking to the guy. When his friend jumped in on the conversation, I realized that he was kind of cute, too. Just as I was on the verge of total confusion, the dates began.

There are rules to SpeedDating. No asking what anyone does for a living — one that I didn’t follow at all times. No asking how much anyone makes or what kind of car he drives — one I did follow.

We are supposed to ask about values. Do you want children? What is important to you? I bent this rule, feeling strange about asking such personal questions within the first two minutes.

One guy turned the minidate into a therapy session — issues with his father. Another one seemed nice, but he lived almost an hour away and I didn’t want to spend time commuting to a relationship. Then, my worst nightmare: an ex-boyfriend. We simply stared at each other and made small talk until the time was up.

After each date, I wrote down a “yes” or “no” by each person’s name. If both people write “yes,” the coordinators send each of us contact information for the other.

After the dates were over, the SpeedDating morphed into a crowded singles party. Another hour or so later, my smile-and-be-nice tolerance reached its limit. As I walked toward my car, pockets loaded with business cards, I felt good. I realized that it’s not so hard to meet people in L.A. It just takes a little time, a little courage and a stopwatch.

Aish HaTorah is organizing a SpeedDating solidarity mission to Israel, Feb. 18-25. For more information, call (310) 278-8672.

Ilona Fass is a freelance writer based in Los Angeles.