Insight: Speedy Introduction
I have wanted to be a spy ever since I was a little girl watching James Bond films on my Daddy’s knee. It has it all; it’s exciting, sexy, and you get to blow up large buildings armed only with a crayon and a tube of toothpaste. Of course, I could never divulge my calling to anyone because I had to conceal my future secret identity.
When questioned about my planned career, I would give the usual replies of ‘ballet dancer’, or ‘air hostess’ to protect both my own life and the lives of those who knew me. So, you will understand when I tell you that a small part of me died the day I discovered that I was one inch above the maximum height for an operative wishing to be involved in ‘mobile surveillance’ for MI5.
Apparently five feet eleven is just too conspicuous, even if you are wearing a beige trench coat and carrying a large briefcase. So, imagine my delight when the opportunity arose to conduct a foray into a world fraught with danger and uncertainty. This mission was not for the faint hearted • I was going speed dating.
The thought of spending four minutes each with a successive list of strangers on the off chance of falling madly in love (or quickly into bed, depending on your priorities) is a rather strange one. How could anybody possibly think it a good idea to voluntarily pass an evening talking to people who, presumably, are there due to a sorry absence of social skills, or a surfeit of odour-related problems.
Even if, due to some amazing twist of fate, cupid’s arrow does strike, and any problems are solvable with the help of a couple of squirts of Right Guard (“that’s it dear, take the cap off and push the button”), surely the very idea of meeting someone in this way is just plain embarrassing.
Enquiries by your children about how you and muumy/daddy got together would be greeted with awkward shuffles and the eventual admission that he was better than the bloke with his flies undone and number 23 never got back to you. As these were my initial thoughts on the experience, it was with no little amount of trepidation that I set off to the final RAG speed date of the year.
It was made doubly frightening by the fact that the two girlfriends I would have expected to accompany and protect me had both given lame excuses along the lines of “I have an essay,” and “I have a boyfriend.
?? Girls can’t even go to the toilet alone, how was I supposed to go speed dating? How was I supposed to go to the toilet when I got there?! However, a small lake of red wine, and I was ready for anything these weirdoes could throw at me except that, when I arrived, it soon became fairly clear that if anybody was going to be a weirdo, it would be me. I had stepped into a room filled with lively, well dressed, smiling people, looking relaxed and happy, talking to their friends.
I, on the other hand, had to quickly grab something blue and alcoholic from the bar and retire nervously into a corner, to wait alone for half an hour or so for the dating to begin. What was going on? These people looked normal. They had friends and shoes that matched and could clearly hold long and interesting conversations. Suddenly the evening was shaping up to be far more promising. Maybe a tall, dark, handsome stranger was in here for me after all.
I was almost certain I could get over the initial faux pas of being the only loser on her own once I was able to show off my dazzling wit and personality. Almost. So why were these people here? I knew, having asked several friends to come with me and being met with grimaces or raised eyebrows, that many have a similar attitude towards speed dating to the one I once held; anybody worth meeting would not need to attend such an event.
Perhaps then they weren’t actually hoping to meet anybody here, and were treating as an alternative to going to the JCR or cinema. Conducting gentle enquiries around the bar, however, I discovered that, although lots of people were there for a laugh, this was not, for the most part, their only reason. Nearly everybody gave the impression that a large part of their plans for the evening involved a member… or five, of the opposite sex. I was gradually beginning to realise how wrong I had been.
The guys I spoke to were mostly very easy to talk to, funny and a large proportion were very attractive (not that such shallow considerations are of any importance to me). Similarly, almost without exception, all the girls I saw were pretty and interesting. As far as the dates were concerned, once you got over the initial “Name, College, Subject” queries, it was possible to have some really entertaining conversations.
Of course, there were one or two people I would not have spoken to under different circumstances. One unfortunate young man, perhaps overexcited by the sight of so many fine young specimens to play with, and salivating more than usual, treated me to a not so refreshing shower every time he spoke. But these were the exceptions rather than the rule, and besides, it added to the variety. Oxford is a notoriously difficult place to meet people.
We all know the statistic of it being the university with the least amount of sex in the country. And, in a way, this makes sense. Everybody here is so busy both with work as well as the interminable list of extra-curricular activities. We are lucky if we have time to meet up with old friends, let alone make new ones. Surely then, speed dating is designed for Oxford.
What could be more convenient, in our eight week terms, than condensing the long time it would normally take to talk to 25 or so new people into one evening? The most frequent objection to this concept is that four minutes just is not long enough to form any kind of idea of a person, and make an informed judgement on whether or not you would like to see them again. However, research suggests that chemistry can be felt within the first thirty seconds of meeting someone.
But don’t take my word for it. If you’re still not convinced, consider the fact that the speed dating phenomenon is becoming more and more popular as singletons find they just don’t have time to meet people any other way. No longer is it considered to be the last resort of the very desperate. There are speed dates aimed at the old, the young, at Muslims, Christians and Jews, even at specific professions. So go on, give it a try. You never know what hidden gem you may come across.
And even if there’s no-one there to float your boat, what have you lost? Your dignity? Your self respect? Perhaps. But when has that ever stopped you?
26th May 2005