“What do you do?” he says smoothly, leaning in, narrowing his eyes in some attempt to be seductive. The cheesy factor is increasing by the second, making me uncomfortable.

“I sell gemstones,” I tell him.

“Oh wow. Guess I won’t be able to ever fool you,” he says with an uncomfortable laugh, implying a future together we will surely never see. As he continues on about himself, I can’t help but count how many more guys there are to go. I wonder if Marco is okay.

About three-quarters of the way through the evening, I realize I was supposed to have been writing the numbers down next to each name on my scorecard. It has columns and a checkmark section to remind us who is who by the end of the night. Did we have chemistry? No. Were they funny? Yes, but not that kind of funny.

Before Joe sits down, I’m so desperate for a pee I can hardly concentrate. It’s all these damn Jacks under the table! I ask Jenny to please entertain my next date. A few, short minutes later I return to Joe who is waiting patiently for me. We introduce ourselves and begin to explain our lives in the span of five minutes. Joe is cute but in the kind of effeminate, plucks-his-eyebrows way I’ve never been attracted to. It just makes me feel less feminine, as I’m not too manicured to start with. His face is welcoming with a sweet right dimple, which leaves me wondering why he’s here. He tells me he’s never done this before but found it on the Internet. He came alone, which I give him kudos for. I hope he likes Jenny, I think after I see them catch each other’s eye.

When Marco, my partner in crime, gets to my table, he tells me to wait while he runs off to the bathroom. Jenny seems smitten with Joe when I look over. She appears adorable, honest and giggly. The women are clearly outnumbered here tonight, which shocks me. I never would have thought more men would come to speed dating than women. Times must be tough.

Marco slides back into the seat and says he’s going to ask me the same question he’s asked all the ladies so far. I take a deep breath.

“What’s the meaning of life?” he says, totally joking but with serious delivery.

“Sex, drugs and rock n’ roll of course!”

“Best reply of the night,” he admits. “You won’t believe some of the answers these girls have been giving me.” After being told the meaning of life was puppies, their grandpa, peace and love, Marco looks like he’s about ready to hang himself.

“Yes, but Marco, you can’t judge bad results from a horrific question. That’s just going to skew what the girls say. If I were asked that honestly, I’m sure I’d answer poorly as well.” Our English host cuts me off, asking Marco to move along.

Chris. Dave. A name that sounds like Mustafa. Mikhail.

As Mikhail wraps up his conversation about being a policeman born and raised in the Valley, I am distracted by claps in the corner from the two hostesses as Joe was named the winner of the “Find The Bear” search, which he found under the hors d’oeuvres table. Mikhail and I thank each other and I wander over towards the commotion. I ask one of the other girls there if she met anyone but she just smiles and shakes her head no. I take a fried potato stick and walk out to find Marco already at the bar with another drink in hand.

“Oh, was it really that bad?” I say laughing.

He looks at me with a tilted, are-you-kidding-me smile and says, “I just spent the last four rounds with a bunch of dudes while I was waiting for you to finish.”

In a forever-moving society that strives for faster, bigger, better, speed dating makes sense. But until the pool of attendees widens, it only makes sense on paper. Societies crave structure, but structures and boundaries and fast-moving minds and limbs leave little room for conversations with strangers. Among all this pseudo-interaction, we still find ourselves isolated. Be it speed dating, roller-skating, or knocking out planks for Habitat for Humanity, we just need a reason to talk to each other, to start the conversation. Once the talking happens, the same rules apply.