11/26/02’s illustrious band:

8-Minute Milestone

Brought to you by Amy 2.0 and the Soup Group.

How lame is my out-of-office social life? My social life is so lame that my friends and colleagues at work (with whom I meet for soup every Thursday lunchtime) are taking up a collection to get me a date. That’s right, they’re willing to pay cold, hard cash to get my hat thrown into the dating ring.

The plan is for the Soup Group to sponsor my enrollment in a speed dating program. Speed dating is a relatively new phenomenon in which about 10 men and 10 women meet in a central location. The women sit down at tables, and each man sits down opposite a woman. Ding! Let the dating games begin! You spend 7 or 8 minutes talking with your partner, then the bell rings again and the “date” is over. Men get up, women remain seated. You get a couple minutes to make notes on the date you just had, then the men rotate to new partners and you go again. Lather, rinse, repeat until you’ve dated all the available partners in the room. (This used to be considered questionable behavior where I come from, but I guess times change.)

No last names or contact information are to be exchanged at the speed dating event. A day or two afterward, the service contacts each participant to report which of their dates wants to see them again. After that, you’re on your own.

The speed dating services assure participants that they don’t accept just any application; they do some pre-screening first. So hopefully I won’t find myself facing an axe murderer. Speed dating is supposed to be a fun and safe way for busy single professionals to meet potential dating partners without having to hang out in bars. Events are usually organized by age group, so I’ll be meeting people in the 30- to 40-year-old range.

My friends are sending me on this adventure because they’re (A) curious about the speed-dating phenomenon and (B) convinced it’s time for me to get back in the game. This Thanksgiving marks two glorious years of post-marital freedom for me, and the high soup-sipping council has decided that I am now fully rested and ready to tackle a new challenge. I can get you the ringleader’s address if you want to send in a contribution to the cause. At last count she already had enough pledges to sign me up and keep an organizer's fee for herself. Uh, thanks?

These are the same friends, mind you, who recently attempted to marry me off to a valued vendor to save him from being deported. This guy Lars, whose products we like to feature in our magazine, is Danish, and his visa was about to expire. So El Queso Grande and the Flaxmaster conspired to e-mail him my photo along with a tongue-in-cheek assurance that my marrying him could be considered part of my job — “other duties as assigned.” They must have sent the wrong photo, though, because we haven’t heard from him since. Should this worry me?

I think some of us need new hobbies.

OK, I’m headed south for the Thanksgiving weekend. Wish me good weather and good gravy; at least half your wishes are guaranteed to come true.