Tonight my friend Jill and I went to a single mingle at our apartment complex. Single. Mingle. I can’t stop saying it because I think it sounds hilarious. Lookit, I’m a bit of a commitment-phobe and like many members of my generation, I have trouble looking sincerity directly in the eye. I’m all about irony and things that are awesomely bad, so the idea of a “single mingle” is compelling because it promises to be deliciously awful.
I admit that I was a bit curious to see the kind of crowd that would show up. When I moved into the complex, Vicki, the woman who runs the complex and also hosted the event tonight, told me about the tanning beds and all the attractive single guys who lived here. I suspected the latter was an overstatement at best, but since I moved in for the gym and the good internet access, I didn’t sweat it. This seemed like a good opportunity to see whether or not Vicki had lied to me.
I also thought I might learn the names of some of the people I’ve seen around the gym. Like this guy who always seems to be there whenever I go in. One night he decided to run on the treadmill next to mine, only it had slipped off its thick, rubber mat. There were several other machines open, but he decided to just wrestle that one back into position. It took a few tries and what looked like considerable effort, but he got it. I’m not sure he’s my type, or even if he’s single, but you see a guy go toe to toe with the gym equipment, you wonder who he is. I didn’t solve that mystery tonight, but rest assured, I’m working on it.
I liked to think of what we were doing as an undercover mission of sorts. Jill actually has a boyfriend, but she was game to indulge my curiousity and be moral support. A single mingle doesn’t seem like something I’d be up for on my own. Improv comedy? Rock climbing? Those things I could do solo, but this was the sort of thing where I’d need a partner in crime.
We arrived late, and I quickly noticed that the men sat at one table and the women at two others. For a single’s event two days before Valentine’s Day, it seemed ironic that everyone avoided members of the opposite sex like we were at a seventh grade dance. I also couldn’t help but notice there were roughly a dozen women and only five men. The 2:1 ratio doesn’t necessarily prove Vicki lied to me. It’s circumstatial at best. Still…it seems noteworthy. We made our way directly towards the food table, and in keeping with the pre-existing group dynamic, I didn’t make eye contact with the men’s side of the room.