JAMES:You couldn’t pay me a million dollars to get on one of those tourist buses.
LANA:It actually wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.
SETH:I thought it was a lot of fun.
TESSA:I guess any activity can be fun with the right company
LANA:I wouldn’t go that far.
Though maybe you all would like to join me for a kickboxing class?
JAMES:Since when are you down with working out?
LANA:I’m down for anything that lets me imagine punching my ex in the face... purely for physical fitness purposes of course.
SETH:And here I thought we called a truce.
LANA:Calling a truce doesn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy punching you.
SETH:You should probably bring up your anger issues at your next therapy appointment.
LANA:You should probably not be such a butthead.
JAMES:Do I have to say it every time?
GET. A. ROOM.
17
Whatever happened to meeting people face-to-face? Remember those few months when speed dating was all the rage? Good times.
—Lana Parker, “Are Dating Apps Our Only Hope?”
A feeling of dread pools in my stomach as I peel the thin paper backing off the “Hello My Name Is” tag and stick it to my dress. And it has nothing to do with not wanting to leave any adhesive residue on my favorite sundress—royal blue and swingy, clinging in all the right places, with a tiny Captain America shield embroidered on the sleeve.
I slap a fake smile on my face as I turn and survey the half-full room. Apparently speed dating isn’t really a thing anymore, which isn’t all that surprising given the heteronormativity of it all. In order to find an event so I could complete my task, I had to travel to a church all the way in the Valley. Somehow, I ended up back in the Valley.
I find myself in a large, nondescript multipurpose room,the carpet a drab gray, the walls a dingy cream that probably used to be white. There are small tables set up in a large circle in the center of the room, each with two folding chairs, a number, and a bud vase with one wilting flower. People mostly in the thirty-to-forty-five age box mill around the room, and it resembles a junior high dance, boys on one side and girls on the other.
I make a beeline for what looks to be the bar, only to find it’s a self-serve drink station stocked only with water and lemonade. Which I guess makes sense since we’re in a church. Even though I’m pretty sure Jesus had a thing for wine and would certainly not begrudge a girl some liquid courage before this whole evening gets under way.
The good news is that the horrible traffic I sat through got me here just a few minutes before the event is scheduled to start. By the time I help myself to some lemonade, our host for the evening is already directing us to our assigned seats.
“Welcome, everyone. Thank you so much for coming. I’m sure many of you are already familiar with how speed dating works.” The woman, who appears to be in her midforties, shoots some knowing looks around the room, presumably at the repeat customers, although their very presence doesn’t exactly make for a ringing endorsement of the event’s success rate. “But if you’re new here this evening, here’s how tonight will go. The ladies will find their assigned seat and remain there for the duration. Gentlemen, you’ll get three minutes with each gal. When the timer dings, move along to the next lucky lady. At the end of the night, you’ll pickyour favorite daters, and if you make a match, you’ll be sent their contact information.” She gives us all a warm, encouraging smile that sings of cookies and milk and after-school specials. “Let’s get to it!”
I take a seat at table number five, attempting to make myself comfortable in my folding chair. I can’t seem to stop fidgeting, and long before I’m ready, I’m faced with the first of my suitors.
“Hi, I’m David.” His hand actually trembles as he reaches out to offer me a weak handshake.
I flash him a mostly genuine smile, taking some pity on him since he’s clearly nervous. “Lana.”
“What do you do, Lana?”
I try not to grimace, wondering how many times I’m going to have to answer the same standard questions tonight. “I’m a writer. How about you?”
“I work from home.”
Working from home doesn’t quite answer my question, but I don’t want to be rude, so I don’t press further. I attempt to think of something else to ask him, but he hasn’t given me much to work with so far. “And do you like that? Working from home, I mean?”
