Blind Date Offers Blind Prospects for Trinity Students' Love Lives
PETER DACEY and JACKIE SPARKS
Issue date: 12/5/06 Section: Features
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Peter Dacey's experience:
Most people would agree that a blind date can be enough of an adventure by itself, but apparently the combination of a college newspaper and just such a date produces quite the volatile brew.
This was not the typical Tripod "blind date" outing of old, when the night would be planned out ahead of time and the participants were actually able to Facebook each other ahead of time; my date and I were afforded no such luxuries.
Backing up for a moment, just how does a simple, lowly sportswriter end up putting his life on the line like this? It turns out the way the Features Editors run their section is by leaving mysterious voicemails on your cell phone, followed by a series of unreturned calls and unanswered e-mails. In my case, I waited a week before finally giving up on whatever they had in mind, only to then have my own editor thrown into the mix.
He e-mailed me and finally revealed that the Tripod wanted me to be a part of its annual stab at the world of blind dates. I suppose I could have refused, but anyone who knows me is aware that I like to live dangerously; that, and I also happen to be a fan of the "Blind Date" show.
With the hope that I wouldn't end up like one of the guys I so often laugh at on television, I was told when and where to report.
As it turns out, that was about all the information I was going to get. I was truly running blind on this one, and I wouldn't be able to rely on any online personal summaries to break the ice.
Once I met up with my date, the plot continued to thicken. It turns out that she had not only volunteered for this but had waited patiently for it to happen for months as opportunities had broken down. Following her awkward admission that she had preferred her date not be a senior (last I checked I was still part of the Class of '07), we were finally able to get off campus. Typical of the evening's setup, there was confusion in cab over whether we were really the party the driver was waiting for, and the restaurant employees swapped many puzzled questions before they could finally seat us.
After all this, did I end up cursing the dating gods? As it turns out, the date itself was a pleasant juxtaposition next to everything that preceded it. I didn't have worry about my date running up a huge bill on alcoholic beverages or hitting on any guys passing by, and she was more than capable of holding up her end of an interesting conversation.
While nothing happened over the course of the evening worthy of AT, I certainly enjoyed being with a cute girl whose involvements around campus left me quite embarrassed.
Once we finished our meal it was time to head back to campus, and strangely enough the ride back didn't involve any of the unpleasantries previously experienced.
From the wait in the restaurant for the cab to our arrival back at Trinity, our conversation continued, and I never once did I have to resort classics like "so, what kind of music do you listen to?" To wrap things up, I walked my date back to her dorm, and with that we bid each other adieu.
I have to admit that I had a good time, and while I prefer my adventures with fair maidens to revolve around daring rescues and grand quests for affection, this was a solid substitute.
I will say though that, given the circumstances that led up to the evening, in the future I'd prefer to date with eyes wide open.
Some advice: if a spastic newspaper editor ever gives you a call about a blind night on the town, agree at your own peril!
Jackie Spark's experience:
I volunteered to go on a blind date for the Tripod, but the more I listened to the whispers of all the women in the Tripod office, the more nervous I became.
So, finally, the big day arrived. The one problem was, at 3 p.m., I still didn't know what was occurring that night. Frantic phone calls to various editors ensued.
I got all dressed up. In the interest of activeness, I chose a short-sleeve shirt, a knee length skirt and black sandals (in 40- degree November Hartford weather; the things I do to look nice).
I then made my way to the cave patio, where I am to meet my date, after weeks of anxiety and speculation. Because my editors fear I'll ruin the surprise and look him up on Facebook, I don't even know his first name. We are finally introduced, and my date is wearing a polo shirt, khaki shorts and tennis shoes. I feel over-dressed.
After the few brief and awkward moments of introduction, we headed to the summoned taxi to go to dinner. We arrived at Sorrento's, an Italian restaurant, and he presented me with a half-dozen pink roses. They were beautiful, and a very generous gesture.
But I ended up hold them awkwardly, not quite sure where to put them during dinner. They wound up hiding under the table with my purse. The table was a little two-person table, nice and intimate, against a wall. Unfortunately, there was a larger table right near us, maybe 10 feet away. It was occupied by a large and loud group, the kind that makes it hard to talk if you're not a member (or even if you are). Somehow, though, we managed.
The conversation was light and inconsequential, mainly about classes. The restaurant, however, did leave a little something to be desired. They took a long time brining us bread, and I had linguine and clams that were a bit mushy.
There was one point where I took a bite and made a face, because it was a bad clam, and he looked at me and asked why I was making the face. He thought he had upset me. I reassured him that it was my bad clam face, not my stupid comment face. When dinner was over, he paid with out any discussion. [Disclaimer: he was going to be reimbursed.]
We called another cab to return to Trinity. He held the door, as he had through out the night. When we arrived at school, he walked me to the door of my dorm, where we parted ways. He didn't ask for my number, which was fine because it meant I didn't have to decide if I wanted to give it to him or not.
So I get back and finally go look him up on Facebook. Why not? Looking at his profile, I don't see anything that would have made me say, yes, this person is a good match for me. There is a slight similarity in book and movie choices, but that's about it.
All in all, it was an enjoyable evening, and he was a good guy. It was nice to meet him. However, to the disappointment of many, nothing developed. Despite efforts to the contrary, I still remain single.
Most people would agree that a blind date can be enough of an adventure by itself, but apparently the combination of a college newspaper and just such a date produces quite the volatile brew.
This was not the typical Tripod "blind date" outing of old, when the night would be planned out ahead of time and the participants were actually able to Facebook each other ahead of time; my date and I were afforded no such luxuries.
Backing up for a moment, just how does a simple, lowly sportswriter end up putting his life on the line like this? It turns out the way the Features Editors run their section is by leaving mysterious voicemails on your cell phone, followed by a series of unreturned calls and unanswered e-mails. In my case, I waited a week before finally giving up on whatever they had in mind, only to then have my own editor thrown into the mix.
He e-mailed me and finally revealed that the Tripod wanted me to be a part of its annual stab at the world of blind dates. I suppose I could have refused, but anyone who knows me is aware that I like to live dangerously; that, and I also happen to be a fan of the "Blind Date" show.
With the hope that I wouldn't end up like one of the guys I so often laugh at on television, I was told when and where to report.
As it turns out, that was about all the information I was going to get. I was truly running blind on this one, and I wouldn't be able to rely on any online personal summaries to break the ice.
Once I met up with my date, the plot continued to thicken. It turns out that she had not only volunteered for this but had waited patiently for it to happen for months as opportunities had broken down. Following her awkward admission that she had preferred her date not be a senior (last I checked I was still part of the Class of '07), we were finally able to get off campus. Typical of the evening's setup, there was confusion in cab over whether we were really the party the driver was waiting for, and the restaurant employees swapped many puzzled questions before they could finally seat us.
After all this, did I end up cursing the dating gods? As it turns out, the date itself was a pleasant juxtaposition next to everything that preceded it. I didn't have worry about my date running up a huge bill on alcoholic beverages or hitting on any guys passing by, and she was more than capable of holding up her end of an interesting conversation.
While nothing happened over the course of the evening worthy of AT, I certainly enjoyed being with a cute girl whose involvements around campus left me quite embarrassed.
Once we finished our meal it was time to head back to campus, and strangely enough the ride back didn't involve any of the unpleasantries previously experienced.
From the wait in the restaurant for the cab to our arrival back at Trinity, our conversation continued, and I never once did I have to resort classics like "so, what kind of music do you listen to?" To wrap things up, I walked my date back to her dorm, and with that we bid each other adieu.
I have to admit that I had a good time, and while I prefer my adventures with fair maidens to revolve around daring rescues and grand quests for affection, this was a solid substitute.
I will say though that, given the circumstances that led up to the evening, in the future I'd prefer to date with eyes wide open.
Some advice: if a spastic newspaper editor ever gives you a call about a blind night on the town, agree at your own peril!
Jackie Spark's experience:
I volunteered to go on a blind date for the Tripod, but the more I listened to the whispers of all the women in the Tripod office, the more nervous I became.
So, finally, the big day arrived. The one problem was, at 3 p.m., I still didn't know what was occurring that night. Frantic phone calls to various editors ensued.
I got all dressed up. In the interest of activeness, I chose a short-sleeve shirt, a knee length skirt and black sandals (in 40- degree November Hartford weather; the things I do to look nice).
I then made my way to the cave patio, where I am to meet my date, after weeks of anxiety and speculation. Because my editors fear I'll ruin the surprise and look him up on Facebook, I don't even know his first name. We are finally introduced, and my date is wearing a polo shirt, khaki shorts and tennis shoes. I feel over-dressed.
After the few brief and awkward moments of introduction, we headed to the summoned taxi to go to dinner. We arrived at Sorrento's, an Italian restaurant, and he presented me with a half-dozen pink roses. They were beautiful, and a very generous gesture.
But I ended up hold them awkwardly, not quite sure where to put them during dinner. They wound up hiding under the table with my purse. The table was a little two-person table, nice and intimate, against a wall. Unfortunately, there was a larger table right near us, maybe 10 feet away. It was occupied by a large and loud group, the kind that makes it hard to talk if you're not a member (or even if you are). Somehow, though, we managed.
The conversation was light and inconsequential, mainly about classes. The restaurant, however, did leave a little something to be desired. They took a long time brining us bread, and I had linguine and clams that were a bit mushy.
There was one point where I took a bite and made a face, because it was a bad clam, and he looked at me and asked why I was making the face. He thought he had upset me. I reassured him that it was my bad clam face, not my stupid comment face. When dinner was over, he paid with out any discussion. [Disclaimer: he was going to be reimbursed.]
We called another cab to return to Trinity. He held the door, as he had through out the night. When we arrived at school, he walked me to the door of my dorm, where we parted ways. He didn't ask for my number, which was fine because it meant I didn't have to decide if I wanted to give it to him or not.
So I get back and finally go look him up on Facebook. Why not? Looking at his profile, I don't see anything that would have made me say, yes, this person is a good match for me. There is a slight similarity in book and movie choices, but that's about it.
All in all, it was an enjoyable evening, and he was a good guy. It was nice to meet him. However, to the disappointment of many, nothing developed. Despite efforts to the contrary, I still remain single.
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