The Great Speed Dating Experiment: Part 2

12 May

“Do you bank with us?”

“I’m sorry?”

The half-Chinese, half-Australian bloke opposite me, who had just sat down and informed me he worked for Commonwealth Bank, was asking if I banked with them. On a speed date. I shook my head, told him no, at which point he shook his own head and said that was a shame because he could really help me out. I think it was his way of getting me to tick ‘yes’ by his name on my card – the key to him getting my contact details at the end of the night.

“I can help you; offer all sorts of discounts,”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes, overdraft. Home loan.”

“How about erasing all my credit card debt?”

“No…”

“How about, if I spend $100, you make sure I’m only charged $1?”

“Errr, no,”

This continued for four minutes, until the bell rang. My sarcasm washed right over his sweet little banker’s head and even though I was clearly being a bit of cow I couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for him. He obviously signed up to Fast Impressions – the second organisation in my speed dating investigation – because he works too hard to find a girlfriend. And yet, all he knows how to talk about is his work.

I have to say, I didn’t enjoy last night as much as I enjoyed Saturday night, with Blink Dating. Although The Argyle in the Rocks is a nicer venue with candles and exposed brick walls and comfy couches, the conference room in the shitty hotel was more fun. I think because there weren’t as many people on Saturday; it was friendlier somehow. I was part of a little club, whereas there were loads of people there last night. And with three different speed dating rounds going on at the same time in different areas of the bar, it was confusing. I saw a few guys I wouldn’t have minded talking to, but they never sat down opposite me because they were involved in a different round of dating, elsewhere. Maybe they were older, or younger, who knows, but they were in different categories and I never got to meet them, which was a shame.

Instead I got the banker, and a guy from Venezuela who informed me five seconds after sitting down that he’d been shot at. He was so proud of it too. Apparently it happened when he was growing up and the bullet missed his arm by millimetres. “Have you ever been shot at?” he asked me.

“Strangely, no” I replied. “Not by anything I can talk to you about anyway.”

I have one more event on Friday, in a wine bar in Manly. It involves a lot of effort, getting to Circular Quay, getting the ferry… ugh.  I’m starting to think I might skip it. Hmmm. Nah, I can’t give up. I won’t give up. I mustn’t, not now. For the sake of my article at least, I must continue on my mission!

Maybe my man is in Manly?

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