When last we spoke, Dear Readers, I was wanting to high five the universe. I had just been speed dating, where the 16th guy I’d ‘dated’ that evening turned out to be a charming gentleman who I later pashed at the train station. We didn’t exchange numbers, assuming we’d both ticked each other on our score cards and would thus get an email from the speed dating mob containing each others details. The following morning I get an email from the speed dating mob that DOES NOT INCLUDE HIS DETAILS!
Thank you for attending our event, we hope you enjoyed your evening. We have already had a few relationships develop as well as our first wedding! Please keep in touch if this happens, as we love to hear about success stories. You had 10 guys tick ‘Yes’ to wanting to date you, with 2 matches with guys you ticked.
10 ticks makes me feel very chuffed and popular, but alas! No contact details for Guy Number 16, my platform pashing pal! There are three potential options here:
1) He didn’t tick me. He’s a lying douche.
2) Maybe I didn’t actually tick him. I’m a silly douche.
3) It’s an admin fail. The speed dating organizers are silly douches.
4) It’s a sign from the universe. I was meant to have a bit of a pash but nothing more with Number 16.
For some reason I find this all very hilarious. Ahhh, universe, you cheeky old bastard, you!
(To prove my point, as I type this in the library, my headphones accidentally unplug themselves from my laptop and the totally silent reading room is filled with a few bars of Whitney Houston’s ‘I Wanna Dance With Somebody.’ Good one, universe!)
Never one to leave it up to the universe, I immediately fire off an email to the speed dating peeps:
I think I have a success story already! Potentially…
I was pretty sure I ticked Number 16, did he tick me? Funny if we didn’t tick each other, as we kissed each other afterwards… Alas, we didn’t exchange numbers, assuming we’d get them through this process! Not sure what to do now, any advice would be much appreciated.
Thirty minutes later I receive the following response:
This is the second time Number 16 has come to our events and the second time we have had complaints against him. Our hosts were scared of him making a big scene but we had a guy not turn up so reluctantly they let him participate. He is banned and we removed him from our matches. I cannot say too much but it is for the best that you completely forget about him.
Ever the empowered customer/hopeless romantic, and never one to leave it up to the universe, I respond:
I can’t forget him. We had such a lovely evening and he was the most lively, interesting gentleman there! I do have some complaints, although none are against him:
-You let a man participate who you had concerns about, thus potentially endangering the physical and emotional wellbeing of 19 vulnerable women
-Once letting this man in, you had no plans to ever pass his details on to anyone, thus knowingly leading on 19 women who, like me, may have finally felt they’d hit the jackpot and met a really great guy
-The food and drinks provided did not offer value for money, your name, phone number or ABN are nowhere to be found and the lack of GST charged seems a little dodgy.
Bam! Take that! How’d you like a little tax fraud accusation with your feedback, eh? Three hours later I receive the following email:
We are closed until Feb 2014. Tickets for upcoming events can still be ordered and paid for online. Thank you.
I may have mentioned that I’m not one for leaving my fate in the hands of the universe, so I fired off one more email, this time to that daily free newspaper they hand out on the train. Dear Readers, I can now report that I am a published author, under the pseudonym ‘FutureGirlfriend’:
Unfortunately I never catch the train, so I failed to read this publication every single day for the next fortnight, potentially I missed a reply from Guy Number 16 requesting a rendezvous. Judging from the other letters, perhaps all I need to do to meet men is just ride the rush hour trains with a recognisable haircut or a hotdog…