For those of you who have been living under a dating rock, HurryDate allows you to meet 10-15 people in one night. You chat to them for five minutes, then the host/moderator – or in the case of Los Angeles, an out of work actor – blows a whistle and screams, “Next!’ By the end of the evening you have lost your voice and you have a cute little scorecard where you write down the wonderful things or unsavory unmentionables about the guys. Then you go home and punch yes or no next to each guy into your computer. If you both say yes, you email each other and go on a real date. The best thing about this event is that if the guy’s a jerk it’s only five minutes out of your whole life and you never have to see or speak to him again. The bad thing is, while it’s easy to figure out in five minutes if you never want to see someone again, it’s harder to figure out in five minutes if you do want to see someone again. It’s also difficult to know what to talk about in five minutes. I had only one important question for every guy. “What’s the last book you read?” This told me quickly a) can they actually read and b) if you’re reading quantum physics you’re not for me, but if you’re reading Russian literature, you had me at ‘Tolstoy.’
I said “yes” to three guys and luckily all three said yes to me. But here’s the important caveat. It doesn’t matter how or where or under what circumstances you meet, the usual dating pitfalls still apply.
Guy No 1: Wasn’t Jewish! What was he doing at Jewish HurryDate? Apparently, “some of my best friends are Jews.”
Guy No 2: Sent an enthusiastic email. We set up a time to meet and then he sent another email saying he needed to take a rain check. He would check his calendar and get back to me. I never heard from him again.
Guy No 3: Russian literature/Manhattan Beach guy. We dated for four weeks, but then he apparently decided he needed/wanted/had to sleep with his ex-wife. I needed/wanted/had to retain my self-respect, so I quit him and the 405. Did I mention there’s also a train to Manhattan Beach? Tolstoy be damned. There’s no way I’m throwing myself under a train for any guy. And neither should you.