“Your number is 10,” she says, as if there is nothing weird about assigning a number to find a soul mate. As I follow this pretty host with nice legs to my table, I become insecure all of a sudden. I want to whisper in her ear that I’m here for an article assignment, not because I’m desperately seeking someone. But I can’t tell her this; I have to grin and bear it. I have to let her look at me that way, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she turns to seat the others.

Needing a drink, and as discretely as possible, I pour a bit more of my travel Jack into my glass. At my table sits a cute young girl named Jenny. We introduce ourselves, her smile is warm and friendly.

“So, is this your first time speed dating?” I ask.

“Definitely my first time! I can’t believe I’m here but my friend found it online and I thought, what the hell. It’s worth a shot,” her smile changes from warm to nervous. “Your first time too?”

“Yes, I can’t believe I’m here either. But dating is hard in L.A.!” I tell her, quite honestly, because it is. Her smile indicates a sincerity that makes me want to renounce all my previous thoughts about the types of girls who would speed date. She seems like a catch.

The English girl brings my first date to my table; another guy sits across from me to talk to Jenny.

“Feels like we are on a double-date,” he says to all of us and we giggle in reply because, well, what else can we say. It’s awkward, but as you do in most awkward situations, you smile and start talking.

As my first date pulls out the chair, he introduces himself as Lowry. He’s heavy set, wearing a striped collared shirt and he’s cross-eyed. I’m not kidding. I can’t tell which eye to look at when I reply.

“Hi, I’m Sophie. Nice to meet you.”

“So is this your first time speed-dating?” He asks me in a shaky voice, looking at what appears to be my right shoulder. I focus on his third eye as I smile and tell him it’s my first time. Like clockwork, the questions get fired. I learn he’s an engineer from Orange County, and it’s his first time at one of these events as well. I take a swig of my drink and try to stay focused. He’s quite boring but then again, maybe I am too in this kind of contrived situation. After the facts are shared, there isn’t enough time to get to the nitty gritty, but that’s what a second date is for.

Saved by the Brit, I think, as the English girl comes over. “Time’s up. Please move along.”

“Nice talking with you,” I say as we jot down each other’s name on the scorecard.

“I hope we can talk more at the end of the evening,” he tells me, more confidently. He’s such a nice guy, I feel bad that I’m not here for the same reason he is and feel slightly guilty about it. It’s difficult enough to sign up for this, let alone express interest in someone who is here undercover. I hate this feeling.

Next to my table arrives Markus, who’s from Germany but was raised here. Skinny with delicate features, he looks like he’s 16-years-old. I want to give him a hug, brush the hair out of his eyes, and tell him everything will be okay. The same questions get regurgitated.

Then comes Ben. Jake. Franz. Eric. Tom. Chuck.

Chuck sits down with a big Texan smile and says, “Hey Miss Ten. How are you?”

Chuck isn’t at all my type. He’s a fraternity, Ed Hardy-shirt-wearing type of guy. I like clean but unkempt—bearded and tattooed. While my taste is so off that I’ve been banned to give relationship advice to my younger brother, and the traits of my past boyfriends are a topic of much ridicule among friends, I can still tell this guy is a tool. Tom is now chatting up Jenny in the corner of my eye, and it’s distracting. I keep trying to listen to their conversation while Chuck is rambling away. Not being able to listen to either very well, I refocus on Chuck and ask him what he likes to do outside of work.

“I like to work out. Play guitar. Run around with my dog,” he tells me. As each one comes, I can’t help but smile on the outside, cringe on the inside. He’s definitely just saying this because he’s been misinformed that those three activities warrant googly eyes.