A Random Speed Dating Story From Long Ago.

Those of you on the market know what it's like out there, and those of you who aren't probably aren't anxious to be reminded. The hard work, the constant pressure to perform, the degradation and humiliation, not to mention the expense. Trying to get laid my friends, is the hardest job you'll ever love. Kinda like being in sales with occasional orgasms.

The humiliation part was well in evidence as I walked into the kiddie club. The speed dating event was being held in a place that normally attracted a crowd that needed to be well versed in ways to trick a bartender into miscalculating the number 21, so it was incredibly obvious when one of us approached. "Upstairs and to the left" the bouncer said without looking up or so much as a word from myself. I shuffled up to the geriatric corner and hoped it wouldn't be as bad as I feared.

It was. Fat, old, weird, ugly and stupid filled the room. Everyone in this place had an obvious defect and I started to wonder to which category I belonged until I looked into the far corner and saw the exception. Long blond hair and the most elegant air about her you could imagine. Older, yes, but in a way that made you think classy. Worldly. Wise. And experienced in ways that would surely rock my world. The long sleek evening dress cried out to the world that she was the prize this night, and as I looked around at my male competition, a good portion of which was huddled in the opposite corner talking among themselves like this was a junior high dance, I was confident the prize was mine for the taking. I walked over and made a little small talk before the event officially started. It went well.

For those of you not familiar with how these speed dating things work, I'll give you a quick primer. Every lady sits at a table and every guy is assigned a number, guy number one goes to table number one, two to two, and so on. A bell is rung, and for five minutes each couple makes a little small talk until the bell is rung again, at which point the guys move along to the next table in line. It soon acquires the feel of a boxing match. My prize was to be the last lady I would talk to that evening, which would be perfect. I would look positively stunning after she sat through the other 12 numbnuts in the room, and the setup would be perfect for me to suggest we round out the evening by going to the grown up bar down the street. I don't have to tell the single among you what the dry spells are like, but when they break like a welcome drenching thunderstorm in the heat of July, I also don't have to tell you the feeling is among the most ego-gratifying in the universe.

I worked my way through the lesser women with the required subtle politeness. No use burning my bridges, even with the 280 pound redneck with eight... yes eight, children. Hope springs eternal, and she could lose custody of them and have a gastric bypass one day. The anticipation built as the night went on though, to the point where I admit it was hard to concentrate on the woman before the prize. I think she said she raced cars in her spare time, which under normal circumstances would have been pretty interesting. Tonight though, I was meant for more. The bell rang and my heart quickened.

I swear she looked even better than a mere hour ago. I hadn't noticed her smile and her perfect teeth. I realized that smile might be a sign she was glad to see me as I sat down. I was starting to feel something I hadn't in a long time. Happy.

The conversation started with the usual stuff. "So, where do you work?" naturally came up, and I told her about my exciting career in the happy pill room.

"Oh, I was in there once, I asked the pharmacist where the Q-Tips were and he was kinda rude"

"What were you doing asking the pharmacist about Q-Tips?" I instinctively shot back. I will mention here that I am the only man that works behind the pharmacy counter in my store.

The rest of the five minutes passed by in silence, and I went home alone and content.