Speed Dating, Spoolstra Style (for Liz)

The lighting was low, meant to be intimate—but in reality, the room was just dim. Looking at the row of small booths, she felt her gut twist with apprehension. Bad idea. I knew this was a bad idea. Two or three people mingled near the registration table. The man sitting behind it saw her, and smiled with hearty shallowness, like a car salesman. She squared her shoulders. You’re here, and you’re going to do it. Buck up and be brave. She smiled back, albeit less intensely, and took the last half-dozen steps to reach the table. If her hand shook with adrenaline, it was subtle enough that she was able to hold the marker steady as she filled out her nametag.
A few minutes later, she took her seat as directed in one of the small booths, feeling as if the small lamp on the table only lit her to the chin. I probably look like I have old lady jowls. The absurd thought startled her into a genuine smile. Around her, the other women also took their places. The men were shadowy figures spread across the dim room, and at the chime of a bell, each picked a table and sat down. Four minutes, and then the bell would ring again, prompting them to shift down the line of women. How anyone thought that such a shallow game would ever germinate a meaningful relationship, she surely didn’t know. You’re just here to practice conversation. No pressure. She reminded herself.

The first man took his seat at her table without introducing himself first. Strike one, she thought, most uncharitably. He was tall, but slight, and the false blonde highlights in his hair stood out even in the crummy lighting.

“Hi,” he said, a little too loudly.

Be nice; he’s probably just nervous, she scolded herself.

“Hi,” she answered.

“I’m Steve,” he said, shifting on the vinyl seat.

“Lindsey,” she answered.

One too many buttons on his oxford shirt was unfastened, and the collar had been popped. Lord, save me. The next four minutes will be an eternity.

And something in her…blossomed to life. And with it came an idea that she could not resist. Instead of shaking the hand he awkwardly offered, she propped her elbow on the table and lifted her hand in a clear invitation to arm wrestle.

“Let’s cut to the chase, ey?” she said. “If I beat you, you’re gone.”

“What?”

She felt a mischievous grin stretch across her face.

“Arm wrestle,” she said. “Let’s go.” She waggled her fingers.

He laughed nervously.

“That’s pretty funny.” He shifted on the seat again, and made no move to grasp her hand. “Is that your ice breaker? It’s a good one.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I’m serious, Steve.”

She beat him.

The next guy refused to take her up on her challenge.

The third guy almost beat her, but she still had three or four inches to fall when the bell rang, so they declared it a draw.

She beat the fourth guy. She beat the fifth guy—left handed, to give her arm a break. The sixth guy also refused to wrestle, and spent three of his minutes texting on his cell phone. That was fine with her; she felt the first beads of sweat trickling down her body, and used the break to drink some water and cool down.

The seventh guy grinned and beat her within thirty seconds. He had a beard she did not like. To pass the remaining time, she went best of seven, and held him off from total victory long enough for the bell to ring.

She went left-handed on the eighth, to rest her arm again. She beat the ninth, but it was a tough match. The last man looked strong, and she almost abandoned the game, but she couldn’t make it this far and quit. When she offered the challenge he took it. He held her off for a long time; she realized he could beat her, and was simply waiting. She did not like that, and told him so. He looked surprised—the pressure on her hand eased, just for a moment. Quickly, instinctively, she slammed his hand down. He laughed, and shook out his fingers.

And then the speed dating nightmare was over. Everyone else gathered around the bar to mingle and enjoy a complimentary drink. She wanted to leave, but she was also quite thirsty. She stayed in her seat and drained her water glass, and contemplated refilling it at the bar. Before she could decide, a waiter appeared with a carafe and offered a refill. She accepted gratefully.

“By the way,” he said, as he filled her glass. “I just won fifty bucks. Thanks, lady.”

“What? How—”

“I bet on you,” he said.

She laughed, loud and freely.

“Didn’t realize I had an audience,” she said, when she could speak. “Glad I could entertain.”

He smiled, and faded away into the shadows. She finished her water and left, quietly. No one else accosted her, and in five minutes she was outside, breathing in the free air.