Name: Michelle Tay (above) Age: 26 Event: First Impression by Romancing Singapore Format: Dubbed "the most cruel speed dating in Singapore" on its website, the event consists of 10 singles chatting with each other for 10 minutes in a round-robin fashion. The men will then score the women and vice versa. The top 50 per cent of each gender will advance to the next round to meet the top 50 per cent of other groups. At the end of four rounds, three pairs of winners will walk away with a free dinner.
Before I start, let me declare that I'm both a hopeless romantic and hopeless cynic when it comes to love and relationships.
So as an eight-month-old swinging single, the last place I thought I might find a date was at a speed-dating event.
But since it's 2008, I thought I'd have an open mind and give speed dating a shot for this article.
I called Romancing Singapore's Andrew Chow, who agreed to let me - and fellow reporter Teo Cheng Wee - attend First Impression on Jan 18 so we could write about our experiences.
For a moment, I considered printing out a curriculum vitae, which would detail some personal particulars as well as my likes and dislikes, before setting out.
I even thought of wearing a sandwich board listing answers to questions like "What do you do in your spare time?" and "What's your favourite food?".
I think it was the nerves.
The last time I found a romantic connection, it was in a university classroom. We bonded over flip-flops. What was I to say now?
Besides, I'm rather like a social caterpillar: green, sluggish and possessing a preternatural need to hide in a cocoon.
To make matters worse, colleagues suggested I tone down my Americanised accent to sound more "local" and less intimidating.
When I asked for advice on what to wear, Cheng Wee, bless him, suggested "that really low-cut blue dress" so, you know, I didn't have to rely on talking to get someone to like me.
Gee, thanks for all your votes of confidence, you guys.
But as it turned out, all that worrying was unnecessary.
As soon as I sat down at the first table, comprising myself, another woman and two men opposite us, I found it all quite smooth-going.
There was no stiff format, no one set of questions that everyone had to ask. Conversation flowed rather spontaneously and I freed myself of my pre-conceived biases.
While I wasn't undercover, I got away by saying I was a writer when asked.
The usual response was "Oh" with a polite smile.
The five guys I met were, in order, an accountant, a civil servant, Cheng Wee, a salesman and The One With Too Many Rehearsed Cheesy Pick-up Lines.
The accountant was a little shy and a little self-deprecating, which I found quite cute.
But I didn't warm up to him until he revealed that he liked to go mountain climbing, which quashed all stereotypes that accountants were boring and unhappy.
When it came time for him to get up and move to the next woman, I thought to myself: I could get used to this.
Next up was the civil servant. He broke the ice by saying my necklace was "very nice" - but proceeded to call it "chunky" and "not typical of Singaporean girls to wear".
I didn't know if I had just been complimented or insulted, but I let it go.
Before I knew it, 10 minutes with him passed and the salesman was next.
But I was actually beginning to miss the accountant. I glanced to my left but couldn't see him as he was by now at a table beyond my view.
So I sneaked wistful looks at the bar opposite, where an entire horde of men were imbibing beer and laughing heartily.
The lull was interrupted by the last guy, who said as he approached me: "Well, I've saved the best for last."
I almost choked on my red wine and fell off my chair at the too-smooth delivery of an obviously rehearsed pick-up line.
Then as he was talking, he stopped mid-sentence to ask: "Can I move closer?" I didn't have an answer that was as practised as his question, so I just said "er, okay".
The remaining eight minutes were a blur as I obsessed about maintaining a wide chasm between us on the L-shaped bench.
By the end of the night, I came away with two thoughts.
One, while I was glad the evening wasn't a tense series of interviews for, say, a sperm donor, I was unconvinced of the possibility that one could find the guy or girl of one's dreams in just 10 minutes. That's cynical me.
Two, I much prefer the spontaneity of having a connection sneak up on me under the unlikeliest of circumstances. That's hopeless romantic me.
To be perfectly frank, I felt like I'd just been to the casino and lost a pile of chips. Putting out like that just didn't seem worth it.
The next morning, I was e-mailed my results. I ranked first in all four categories: personality, looks, dress sense and sense of humour.
Out of a possible 200 points, I was surprised to also have scored the highest among the girls. But there was no one whom I really wanted to see again.
I am now more convinced than ever that speed-dating is just like playing the lottery. If you win, you could score big.
Otherwise, it's just a bunch of blind dates; a series of little losses that wear you down until your pocket and spirit are empty.
This article was first published in Urban, The Straits Times on Feb 14, 2008.
