A few years ago, I tried Zoom speed dating—not necessarily because I thought it would work but because I thought it sounded hilarious.
At the very least, I would walk away with a good story.
I didn’t think I’d wind up being the story.
No one could accuse me of not taking this seriously.
I did my hair and makeup and put on a nice top, and at 8pm on the nose, I logged in. Immediately, I was dumped into a huge, group Zoom space.
There I sat, my entire screen tiled with nervous strangers aged 25-45, the women looking shiny and hopeful—some with convivial beverages in their hands—and the men mostly back-lit or hunched in shadowy car interiors.
Why are we like this?
The moderators had music playing and the ice breakers rolling.
“What are your favorite books and movies?”
“Where would you most like to travel?”
“What did you eat for breakfast this morning?”
Overall, I stayed fairly quiet in the group space, less from nerves and more from self-awareness. The minute I came off mute, I would most likely monologue and take over the entire discussion in dramatic fashion. So if I had something to say, I typed my responses into the chat, waiting to make real connections in the individual sessions.
If only I’d stuck to this strategy.
Every few minutes, the moderators sent us into five-minute breakout spaces to chat one-on-one with potential pairings.
This was my time to shine.
As someone who routinely video chats live with strangers online for work, I found myself in my element. Cheery and confident, I immediately got the conversation going. The minutes passed quickly, and we were always cut off mid-sentence when we were sent back to the group call.
There was no question. I was making great impressions. There’s no way I wasn’t making a match tonight.
I shouldn’t have gotten cocky.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that there’s always time left to embarrass yourself.
The evening was winding to a close.
I’d had some good conversations but hadn’t met anyone who had really sparked my interest.
But never mind. It could still happen.
Then, in the big group Zoom space, the moderators asked everyone what their favorite desserts were.
This wasn’t a question I even planned to bother answering in the chat.
As others responded, I let my attention wander. I eyeballed all those small squares, scanning for faces I hadn’t paired with yet, wondering who my next match would be.
Hopefully, The One.
That’s when it happened.
The moderator called me out.
“Ruth, you’ve been pretty quiet tonight,” she said, uttering words that may never have been strung together in the English language before. “Why don’t you tell us about your favorite dessert.”
Because of course I would be singled out for that question.
“I actually don’t really eat sweets,” I said. Then, because I’ve carried on versions of this same conversation countless times before, I immediately launched into a full-blown explanation about how I wasn’t dieting or anything like that. It wasn’t as if I had an allergy or health issue or was holding some sort of grudge against Big Sugar. It’s just that I’ve never had much of a sweet tooth and because I rarely—if ever—eat sweets, I have never really developed favorites.
“Oh,” the moderator said.
And I could have stopped there.
But I didn’t.
“What I really love,” I said straight into the mic, “is potatoes.”
No response. Perhaps an explanation was in order.
“I love everything you can do with a potato.” I leaned forward as I warmed to my topic. “I’ll eat potatoes any way you cook them. I like them mashed, boiled, twice-baked, roasted, wedged, steamed, broiled. I like French fries, scalloped potatoes, hash browns. You name it.”
No one seemed to have anything to say to all this. So naturally, I kept going.
“I especially love potato chips. It’s gotten to the point that I can’t even buy family-sized bags of chips anymore because if I have potato chips in the house, that’s literally all I think about until they’re gone. Leave a pan of brownies at my house, and I’ll forget they’re there. Potato chips, though? Totally different story. So, if I’m going to buy chips, I buy them in little single-serve bags—”
“Okay, Ruth, thank you for that,” the moderator said, having forcibly muted me. “Let’s head into our one-on-ones!”
My screen went blank.
Oh, no. I’d done it, hadn’t I? I’d taken over and gone on a rant. About potatoes, of all things.
But honestly, as rants go, it hadn’t been that bad. At least I hadn’t mentioned anything about Polar Explorers.
My screen flickered and came to life, dumping me in a breakout room with a new guy.
I pasted on a bright smile. Here goes nothing!
The guy looked up, eyebrows lifting as he took me in. “Oh,” he said, his tone half amused, half resigned. “It’s the potato girl.”
“So!” I asked him, making the best of this introduction. “Do you like potatoes?”
Readers, I did not find love that night.
It’s still me and my potatoes against the world.
And that’s okay.
Besides, the way I see it, despite not making a match, I more than got my money’s worth. For one thing, I learned that Zoom speed dating is not for me. For another, I’d been hoping to at least come out of the experience with a story, and I certainly had.
The only problem?
So had everyone else.