This is going to be somewhat of a retrospective blog about the first and only time I will ever go speed dating.
Luckily for you the events of that night were just so bloody strange that they have happily set up camp in a dusty corner of my memory, there to reside for eternity I imagine.
It was all Gustavo’s fault.
“Guys! So I’ve always wanted to give speed dating a go and seeing as we’ll all probably be in long-term committed relationships within the month (we weren’t), do you fancy going next week?”
At £10 a pop and the impending possibility of meeting a Gerard Butler lookalike (whom I would woo in four minutes with my discerning wit and goofy good looks, of course) how could I refuse?
Safe to say Gerard wasn’t there.
Gustavo, Esperanza and I walked into the room expectantly, excited by the prospect of candle light and soft acoustic guitar rhythms.
Instead we got a room that looked like the weekend hangout spot for some dodgy 90’s rapper. With a blingtastic bar, more spot lighting than was probably healthy and white leather sofas that would have looked more at home in R Kelly’s ‘Ignition’ video , I wasn’t feeling it.
Gustavo went to the bar while we girls made a b-line for the pimped out toilets, tactfully checking out any potential “action” on the way.
There was no action. Not even a smidgen of activity. There was a big fat ass nothing rocking around in the space where all the hot guys should have been.
We left the loos and went straight to the bar.
Gustavo had already allied himself with a couple of the troll men that were to be our dates for the evening…
WHAT ARE YOU DOING GUSTAVO!? DO NOT FRATERNISE WITH THE ENEMY!
So I ordered tequila! And a beer!
And then some more tequila.
I was so busy self-medicating for the night ahead that I completely missed the start of the dating!
I rushed back to my allocated seat to find a buttoned up Chinese guy waiting for me, already two minutes in to our four minute date.
“Oh hi, I’m so sorry! I didn’t realise we’d started. Here, I bought you a shot of tequila!”
As far as dates go (and they were about to enter a whole new level of bizarre) this guy was pretty harmless. Granted, by the time I had sedated myself to a satisfactory level we only had two minutes left to chat, and you have to be pretty talented to make something goddamn awful in two minutes.
I can’t really remember what we talked about now. The only defining characteristic of date no.1 was his terrifying hysterical laugh that jarred uncomfortably with his very serious suit.
I made him laugh once and got scared. So I took off my funny hat for the rest of our date.
One down… fourteen to go!
So I don’t know about you but until speed date no.2 I didn’t have a clue what DKNY stood for.
“Hi, nice to meet you! My name’s Valentina.” (You’ve probably guessed by now that I have a penchant for Spanish pseudonyms)
“I’m Karan. As in DKNY.”
Turns out DKNY stands for Donna KARAN New York.
Fine. Great! But…
WHY THE HELL DO YOU KNOW THAT?! AND WHO THE HELL INTRODUCES THEMSELVES LIKE THAT?
This guy was just weird. Mainly because he had a silly hat on and was coked up to his eyeballs.
My four minutes with him were spent sat as far back in my seat as was physically possible, swatting away the barrage of aggressive drug fuelled flirtation that was coming my way.
Sweet baby Jesus ring the bell! Any second I could be roofied, chopped up into little pieces and stuffed into his DKNY suitcase!
So the tone of the evening was set …
I was in for an evening of atrocious flirting attempts the likes of which the world has never seen, including:
- A guy whose personal space boundaries left much to be desired. (He thought 3cm was an appropriate distance between our faces and he let his head RICOCHET INTO MY LAP when he laughed!!!)
- A guy who basically shouted at me for four minutes
- A guy who was practically trembling with pent-up sexual frustration
But more of that in part two…