In January, I watched what was either the greatest
television show ever or one of the seven signs of the apocalypse. The
show was called, “Conveyer Belt of Love.”
Here’s the set up. Four women sat in chairs facing a stage featuring a moving conveyer belt. One at a time, men floated in front of the ladies. In less than a minute, a man had to make an impression on the women in the hopes that he would be chosen for a date. With a quick flash of signs that read “Interested” on one side and “Not Interested” on the other, the ladies either invited the men to get off the conveyer belt or encouraged their ride off the stage. If two ladies showed interest in the same man, the man could choose between the two. Then, he would come down from the conveyer belt and put himself on a platform featuring the chosen lady’s name. Later on, if the woman decided she liked the look of someone else, she could bump off the guy on her platform.
I think this is a fabulous idea. Let’s face it, within a few minutes of meeting someone, we can usually tell if we’re attracted to him/her. Of course, these guys had only a minute to put on their A game, and the first guy who floated out and admitted to living with his parents was given a flash of four “Not Interested” signs within a matter of seconds. Others played guitars and sang, while a few appeared in only their underwear in the grand hope that their physique would serve as the main attraction.
All four ladies went on dates, and while two of the ladies realized that their initial attraction wasn’t strong enough to keep a conversation going for more than five minutes, the other two ladies did seem to genuinely get along with their chosen men. A fifty percent chance of finding a nice companion after only seeing him in person for a few minutes? These are odds I like.
And so, dear reader, in the wake of my last break up, a looming Valentine’s Day, and my impending twenty year high school reunion, I did something I promised myself that I would never do again. I joined an on-line dating service.
I had actually joined this service about seven years ago when I was still in grad school. I met and had dates with three different men. These were all “good-on-paper” guys, but when I met them in person, I didn’t feel any spark of attraction. From this experience, I reasoned that on-line dating wasn’t for me.
However, I live in a tiny town, and my options are limited. I’d like to date again but outside the fishbowl I live in. The best way to meet men, I thought, would be on-line. Plus, two single friends, one here in Dillon and another in New York, had both met interesting men on-line. As one friend put, “It’ll do wonders for your self-esteem.”
Oh, how I wish that were true.
Once I joined the service I decided to make my profile invisible so that I could enjoy a “conveyer belt of love”-type experience. I would shop around for men who lived in Bozeman or Missoula, towns close enough to drive to easily but far enough away so that my personal and professional lives wouldn’t mix.
Browsing through the profiles was a fascinating but daunting experience. I quickly became overwhelmed with all of the choices, so like any good teacher, I had to devise a rubric or scale to rate my level of interest. Any man whose profile picture featured him proudly holding a fish (or any other dead animal, for that matter) was right out. That eliminated a good third of my choices (after all, it is Montana). Next, I started reading profile autobiographies and realized that I couldn’t take off my English professor hat. After looking at these writing samples, I knew I had to eliminate anyone who couldn’t be bothered to use spell check or write in non-texting language. There went another third.
With the remaining candidates, I saw a disturbing trend. A great many of them were outdoor enthusiasts who listed activities that involved either hurtling one’s self down the side of a snowy mountain at breakneck speeds or walking though forests with fifty pounds of gear on one’s back. This worried me. Where was the guy who admitted to liking channel surfing while eating Doritos? Or reading Dickens and the Huffington Post?
I consulted with my ex-boyfriend, Will, and he said that these guys weren’t necessarily looking for me to participate in these activities but perhaps for someone who can appreciate their interests. This made sense to me.
So I wrote to several of these men. I introduced myself and explained why my profile was hidden. I offered to send a picture and more information about myself. Then, the waiting began. Within a few days, I had some takers who were interested in seeing a picture and knowing more about me. I replied and sent on my picture, and again I waited . . . . and waited.
For the most part, none of these men emailed me again. So a week later, I sent out another batch of introductory emails to different men. A few replied to my emails, but once again, after I sent a picture, I never heard from any of them again.
Puzzled, I spoke to my best friend who used to live in Montana and had done some on-line dating. “Are you crazy?” she exclaimed. “Men in Montana are a**holes.” She told me a story of a man she had met on-line. They had exchanged emails and phone calls, and after a few weeks, he decided to visit her. They made arrangements for him to stay with friends and both were looking forward to meeting in person, but he never showed up. He never called her again. Unfortunately, she has a treasure trove of these types of on-line dating stories.
But what if it was me? After all, I’m 38 and still haven’t been able to make a relationship work. Clearly, I have some pretty unique baggage. I decided to re-read my emails and study the picture I had sent. Was the picture not good? Admittedly, I was wearing a sleeveless blouse and the way I was standing made my bicep look to be the size of a Virginia ham. Were my emails too intimidating? I did cop to being an English professor, but it’s not like I quoted Shakespeare or Derrida.
I could speculate endlessly on why these men weren’t interested in me, but the truth is that I’ll never know why they didn’t reply to my email.
So I decided to take myself off line and go with some friends to the one bar in town that my students don’t frequent. My mission that night was not to find someone to date but to find someone (preferably an out-of-towner) to have a minor fling with. My self-esteem needed a booster shot, and, in the past, I’ve been a fairly successful flirter. So I chatted up a man from Seattle who was passing through town. He seemed to respond well to me, and together with my friends, we closed out the bar. While I had hoped to spend some time alone with him, he left me quickly with a peck on the cheek, and I cried all the way home.
And now, I write to you on this Valentine’s Day, with my self esteem in the toilet. My “conveyer belt of love” experiment was a sign of the apocalypse after all. It may not be the end of the world, but it’s the end of my attempt to find love. If he wants me, he knows where he can find me, but for now, Cupid can kiss my ass.
Here’s the set up. Four women sat in chairs facing a stage featuring a moving conveyer belt. One at a time, men floated in front of the ladies. In less than a minute, a man had to make an impression on the women in the hopes that he would be chosen for a date. With a quick flash of signs that read “Interested” on one side and “Not Interested” on the other, the ladies either invited the men to get off the conveyer belt or encouraged their ride off the stage. If two ladies showed interest in the same man, the man could choose between the two. Then, he would come down from the conveyer belt and put himself on a platform featuring the chosen lady’s name. Later on, if the woman decided she liked the look of someone else, she could bump off the guy on her platform.
I think this is a fabulous idea. Let’s face it, within a few minutes of meeting someone, we can usually tell if we’re attracted to him/her. Of course, these guys had only a minute to put on their A game, and the first guy who floated out and admitted to living with his parents was given a flash of four “Not Interested” signs within a matter of seconds. Others played guitars and sang, while a few appeared in only their underwear in the grand hope that their physique would serve as the main attraction.
All four ladies went on dates, and while two of the ladies realized that their initial attraction wasn’t strong enough to keep a conversation going for more than five minutes, the other two ladies did seem to genuinely get along with their chosen men. A fifty percent chance of finding a nice companion after only seeing him in person for a few minutes? These are odds I like.
And so, dear reader, in the wake of my last break up, a looming Valentine’s Day, and my impending twenty year high school reunion, I did something I promised myself that I would never do again. I joined an on-line dating service.
I had actually joined this service about seven years ago when I was still in grad school. I met and had dates with three different men. These were all “good-on-paper” guys, but when I met them in person, I didn’t feel any spark of attraction. From this experience, I reasoned that on-line dating wasn’t for me.
However, I live in a tiny town, and my options are limited. I’d like to date again but outside the fishbowl I live in. The best way to meet men, I thought, would be on-line. Plus, two single friends, one here in Dillon and another in New York, had both met interesting men on-line. As one friend put, “It’ll do wonders for your self-esteem.”
Oh, how I wish that were true.
Once I joined the service I decided to make my profile invisible so that I could enjoy a “conveyer belt of love”-type experience. I would shop around for men who lived in Bozeman or Missoula, towns close enough to drive to easily but far enough away so that my personal and professional lives wouldn’t mix.
Browsing through the profiles was a fascinating but daunting experience. I quickly became overwhelmed with all of the choices, so like any good teacher, I had to devise a rubric or scale to rate my level of interest. Any man whose profile picture featured him proudly holding a fish (or any other dead animal, for that matter) was right out. That eliminated a good third of my choices (after all, it is Montana). Next, I started reading profile autobiographies and realized that I couldn’t take off my English professor hat. After looking at these writing samples, I knew I had to eliminate anyone who couldn’t be bothered to use spell check or write in non-texting language. There went another third.
With the remaining candidates, I saw a disturbing trend. A great many of them were outdoor enthusiasts who listed activities that involved either hurtling one’s self down the side of a snowy mountain at breakneck speeds or walking though forests with fifty pounds of gear on one’s back. This worried me. Where was the guy who admitted to liking channel surfing while eating Doritos? Or reading Dickens and the Huffington Post?
I consulted with my ex-boyfriend, Will, and he said that these guys weren’t necessarily looking for me to participate in these activities but perhaps for someone who can appreciate their interests. This made sense to me.
So I wrote to several of these men. I introduced myself and explained why my profile was hidden. I offered to send a picture and more information about myself. Then, the waiting began. Within a few days, I had some takers who were interested in seeing a picture and knowing more about me. I replied and sent on my picture, and again I waited . . . . and waited.
For the most part, none of these men emailed me again. So a week later, I sent out another batch of introductory emails to different men. A few replied to my emails, but once again, after I sent a picture, I never heard from any of them again.
Puzzled, I spoke to my best friend who used to live in Montana and had done some on-line dating. “Are you crazy?” she exclaimed. “Men in Montana are a**holes.” She told me a story of a man she had met on-line. They had exchanged emails and phone calls, and after a few weeks, he decided to visit her. They made arrangements for him to stay with friends and both were looking forward to meeting in person, but he never showed up. He never called her again. Unfortunately, she has a treasure trove of these types of on-line dating stories.
But what if it was me? After all, I’m 38 and still haven’t been able to make a relationship work. Clearly, I have some pretty unique baggage. I decided to re-read my emails and study the picture I had sent. Was the picture not good? Admittedly, I was wearing a sleeveless blouse and the way I was standing made my bicep look to be the size of a Virginia ham. Were my emails too intimidating? I did cop to being an English professor, but it’s not like I quoted Shakespeare or Derrida.
I could speculate endlessly on why these men weren’t interested in me, but the truth is that I’ll never know why they didn’t reply to my email.
So I decided to take myself off line and go with some friends to the one bar in town that my students don’t frequent. My mission that night was not to find someone to date but to find someone (preferably an out-of-towner) to have a minor fling with. My self-esteem needed a booster shot, and, in the past, I’ve been a fairly successful flirter. So I chatted up a man from Seattle who was passing through town. He seemed to respond well to me, and together with my friends, we closed out the bar. While I had hoped to spend some time alone with him, he left me quickly with a peck on the cheek, and I cried all the way home.
And now, I write to you on this Valentine’s Day, with my self esteem in the toilet. My “conveyer belt of love” experiment was a sign of the apocalypse after all. It may not be the end of the world, but it’s the end of my attempt to find love. If he wants me, he knows where he can find me, but for now, Cupid can kiss my ass.
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