John Jones: Blind Dating

Let me begin this week’s venture into the world of dating by laying a bit of cold, hard truth on you: girls are the scariest things in the world. They’re kind of like Gremlins - luring you in with their small hands and big eyes. They look and smell lovely, keeping you hooked with all their niceties until suddenly you break a rule and kablamo: you’re up against a snarling beast, roaring unprintable words as she aims plates at your face.

The main problem, however, is that there’s no Chinese man around to explain the rules that need to be followed. Women are allowed to get wet and (as far as I know) are allowed food after midnight. Men all over the world are praying that one day archaeologists will uncover an Aztec tablet which explains how to keep women from entering their scary mode. It’ll cover the basics, like “Never compliment a woman’s friend when lying in bed” and move on to the more complex, like “Westlife ARE a great band” (they’ve been around since Aztec times, right?) or “Of course she doesn’t just want a small glass of wine. Take the hint, you plonker”.

Being the mug that I am, I have chosen to ignore the dangers and continue my exploration into the depths of the dating scene. Truth is, working as tea boy on the Death Star would be less nerve-wracking for me than spending time on a date with an actual woman. Fear aside, this week I’ve taken it a step further and gone on a blind date. The concept is a terrifying one: it means not only dating a woman with real female eyes and ears and toenails and everything, but also dating a complete stranger.

I began the only way I knew how - with a plea to my closest female friends. “Warning – awkwardness ahead.” the message read. “It is with great reluctance that I am now asking you, the most lovely and pretty girls I know (and who said compliments were hard?!) to try and fix me up with a blind date.” The reluctance was for more than one reason. I might have already (briefly) discussed my fear of the opposite sex, but asking for a blind date was more than that. Even in the very request itself what you’re essentially saying is “So far, humans in real life haven’t taken a shine to me, so let’s resort to random selection.” But this was different. It was research, and that makes it fine. Maybe.

The response was a little underwhelming, but saying that’s not to blame my friends: “So, who fancies going to dinner with a man you don’t know?” isn’t the easiest thing in the world to ask. Eventually, however, an offer did come through. I’m not a fan of the whole ‘naming and shaming’ thing, so for the purpose of this article I’ll just call the lucky girl ‘Colin’.

I had seen a picture of Colin before the date, but still as I stood there waiting by the charmingly-titled ‘Two fat ladies’ in Wimbledon I had a torrent of worries running through my head. ‘What if she’s a massive racist?’ I thought. ‘What if the picture is Photoshopped and she’s actually 35 stone? What if I have to just look on and try to hold back tears as this stranger eats away my pay packet?’. Luckily for me, Colin was neither a racist nor the size of a Fiat Punto. She was a pretty, funny and down to earth person.

That’s not to say that things were perfect.

We went for a meal in a Wimbledon Village restaurant, and although there were no real awkward silences to speak of, throughout the date the voice inside my head was shouting: ‘IT’S A STRANGER. YOU’RE TALKING TO A STRANGER. WHY ARE YOU STILL TALKING TO A STRANGER?’ Think about it – the hostile silences on tubes, blunt conversations with telemarketers, the unenthusiastic grunting at the supermarket checkout: generally people like to keep conversations with strangers to a minimum. There’s probably a good reason for it too: with no friends in common, shared history or experiences to talk about, conversation can often seem a little contrived and irrelevant. But as we continued with conversation about waiters, food and dating in general (yep, I’ll admit it wasn’t one of my most imaginative evenings) it became clear that there was the potential for something there. Colin even did that amazing slow move towards the bill, pretending that she intends to pay (I’m not even being sarcastic there – it’s a tricky move to make well and it’s a nice change of pace when a date doesn’t just assume that it’s compulsory for the man to foot the bill).

Unfortunately that ‘something there’ wasn’t the start of a relationship, not by a long shot: there were no lingering stares and meaningful touching of hands (or whatever else Bridget Jones’s Diary has taught us constitutes the basis for love), but after a while the talking became more natural and I felt like a friendship with Colin would definitely be possible.

Would I go on another blind date? I hear you not ask. If I’m being honest, I’d have to say no. Not only is there the shame of having to ask a friend to sort it out, putting pressure on them for your sake, but there’s also the risk involved. Yep, you might meet the love of your life and walk away down the moonlit street as the stars shine, fireworks explode and crowds cheer at your phenomenal natural chemistry, but there’s also a chance that you’ll spend an evening filled with regret as a repugnant stranger sits opposite you saying things like “I’m not racist, but don’t you think Chinese people smell funny?”

Next time- The first of a two part series on online dating. It’s not considered uncool any more. Seriously, It’s not. Stop saying that. It’s not.