20. Speed Dating
Love on fast forward.
Though I have some semi-famously gone on many dates, I’ve never done speed dating. It is an activity that has been heavily featured in movies and TV shows about swinging singles, which makes it seem easy to access, but the reality of actually signing up to do it is very different. When I’ve looked into it, it is is hard to find events that fit my age range and interests. They’re often expensive as well, and there’s something about straight speed dating that makes me envision 50 women circling 15 finance bros. Unfair? Too bad, this is my newsletter.
The Bush, a venue that self-identifies as a “Dyke Bar for all of the queer community,” posted on Instagram that they were doing a speed dating event for people 35+ and I was sold. It ticked all my boxes and cost less than $20. The night it rolled around, I was less convinced, even though I already had a ticket. It was rainy, The Bush is in Bushwick. Crossing from south to north Brooklyn is a psychological barrier more than a geographical one. So, thank you to this project and my ten active readers, because it was the thought of all of you that made me put on my sexy boots and go.
The bar space is set in a large room that people familiar with Bushwick can easily imagine. It has the shape and high ceilings of a converted garage with a huge window front that they have discreetly hung with banners to block curious viewers. There are lots of picnic tables and a banquet, as well as an actual bar built along one wall where a few couples were already sitting. Because of my pathological timeliness, I was one of the first people there who was not already on a date. There were two gender neutral bathrooms, one of which was explicitly labeled as being for “pee pee no poo poo” which I avoided. I don’t make promises I can’t keep.
As more speed daters trickled in, making eye contact became quite charged. Everyone was scoping out their potential five minute dates. There was a rum special, which I ordered and which was heavily flavored with essence of banana. The host greeted me as I shuffled though name labels, telling me we would get started soon. This was not true, but I ended up on an unofficial date with another gal who stood by my bar stool up until the event began. She was very smart and thoughtful and interesting, which is something I can say about everyone I spoke to that night. I was going to add that would not be the case if I was being rotated from straight man to straight man, but I honestly do love and enjoy a lot of straight men I know. Friends I have cultivated, people I respect. The main difference is that it is very rare that a woman treats me like I’m not a person, an attitude I do get from men, especially on dates. While not everyone I chatted with was interested in me or even someone I would want to talk to much myself, none of them looked at me like I was an NPC with boobs and I appreciated that.
The host finally announced that the speed dating would begin and started herding us into some kind of formation. It took a while. I decided to make an executive decision and sat across from Deb, who had been alone at a table for a bit. Unknowingly, I’d taken the side that would not be moving, which meant every round a new person came to my table. It made me feel like an interviewer, receiving each prospect and going through their CV. Speed dating is A LOT of talking and I enjoyed it. I do like meeting new people and there was the safety net of knowing it would be over soon and I could meet a new person if this one wasn’t working out.
I’d say the flaw in this particular speed dating event is that there was no way to progress to a real date without demanding someone’s contact within a very narrow window of meeting them. My understanding is that speed dating usually has some option to give the organizer names of people you’re interested in and if there’s a match, they let you both know. Maybe I’m making that up, but it really makes the most sense. Here, all was chaos.
Deb and I broke the ice. She was probably in her early fifties, and made a joke about how she’d been alone at the table due to ageism. Fifties might be out of my age range, never say never, yet she was an attractive person and I’d say we have a lot in common. But she soon told me of plans to go to a wedding where her very first girlfriend was getting married, and about other plans to do a Magic Mike routine as a gift on the big day. It was a surprise for the bride. And she’d never met her ex-girlfriend’s future wife before, so this would be their introduction. This is wild to me on so many levels and I was somewhat relieved for this unknown couple when Deb admitted a knee injury might stop her from doing her dance. I might not be gay enough to understand this whole dynamic, but I think I know a power move when I see one.
We switched off and I met a slew of people: a musician from the Bronx, a gal from North Carolina with a podcast who looked at me like I offended her by being there and didn’t ask a single question, an oncology nurse, a high school teacher from Queens. Most folks seemed to be single, though one woman was in a relationship with a man and looking for a new girlfriend after splitting with someone who didn’t quite fit into her primary relationship. We were not a fit.
I think I expected mostly Bushwick queers, but there really was a mix, probably because of the repeated talking point that finding events that are age appropriate for older queers is not easy. I chatted with a woman who told me she grew up Orthodox and married at 18, and then discovered her first lady love in a Zumba class. Then my last date was with a very serious French surgeon who was in the U.S. to do research for a year. There was the potential to get back to surgery and make a lot of money here, but she admitted she felt disgusted with the American healthcare system. She was probably one of the most compelling people I spoke to that night, which isn’t a knock on anyone else; at times, the moment is just right for a conversation you’ll think about for a long time afterwards.
She did not feel very interested in me, I discovered. It was my last date, the karaoke machine had come out, two people were dueting in the back on “Shallow.” What the hell. I told her I’d probably be in Paris in the summer if she was and maybe we could meet up. Politely, without anything being said directly, this was declined. Look, she’s a surgeon. She can do better and I respect that.
On the other hand, if the speed dating hosts had a better system in place, I would not have had to look anyone in the face while being rejected. Ultimately, it builds character. And I’ll admit, I ducked out before a couple of ladies who were lingering could approach me. Not because I wasn’t interested, per se; mostly it was because I was talked the fuck out.
I caught the bus home in the rain and stopped for some emotional support cheese puffs at the deli. There, I had the best encounter of the night, when their cat Oreo stomped out meowing and demanding pets. I truly thought he was dead, so it was a great finisher to an evening of new experiences.
Support The Bush, we need it.
I’m doing this at every wedding I’m invited to from here on out.
Would you ask someone for a second date at a speed dating event? How did you get so brave?
They should definitely do the matching for you, through numbers or something. But, maybe they're still learning how to throw this kind of event.