It’s slightly past 7 p.m. on a snowy Friday night in February.

In the Rathskeller, rock music plays from a speaker in the corner of the bar where a lone student bartender leans casually against the counter and watches a basketball game on the television on a nearby wall.

A group of fraternity guys in jeans and white T-shirts practices on the stage for an upcoming lipsyncing competition. Under the spotlight they attempt the song, fail, retry, get a bit further and take a break for food. Then they get back to work. Meanwhile, seated alone in a straight-backed chair and looking a bit on edge, a student fidgets aimlessly with a pen he is holding.

His sandy blond hair has been gelled and artfully messed up — a classic haphazard look that has likely taken at least 10 minutes to perfect. And that’s not counting last-minute glances into the mirror on the way out.

Stuck to his tan corduroy blazer atop a red-and-blue polo shirt is a paper nametag — the “Hello, my name is” kind.

His name is Zack. He is number nine.

From Hollywood to home

Speed dating. The concept has been popularized by Hollywood, debuting most recently on the silver screen in Hitch and 40-year-old Virgin.

Speed dating allows numerous singles to meet by arranging timed “dates.” Participants have a set amount of time — in this case, one minute — to chat with one another before moving to the next person.

Kent Student Center Programming began sponsoring speed dating events last year. The idea behind it was simply to encourage students to get to know one another, says coordinator Katie Wallace, a senior theater major.

During its debut last year, speed dating was a hit.

“We had 60 people last year, but I’ll be happy if we get 20 (this year),” she said. “We got a lot more guys last time than girls, which really surprised me.”

Wallace said she had been pleasantly surprised by the turnout at the first speed dating event — she hadn’t expected nearly that many. Though she wasn’t hoping for such a high attendance the second time around, she credited the lower turnout to a couple factors.

“We had fewer people, but I think that was because it was on a Friday, and a lot of students go home on weekends. The first one was on a Wednesday, and it was great,” she said.

Wallace and other members of the KSC Programming, looking considerably more at ease than the crowd of speed daters occupying tables around the room, take advantage of the complimentary spread that has been arranged at a nearby table by the Kent State catering service. Swedish meatballs, skewered tortellini, nacho chips with cheese and an array of vegetables with dip are on tonight’s menu.

On more than one occasion, a group of two or three onlookers drifts through the door, unsure whether to stay or go.

That’s when Amy Werstler, also a member of KSC Programming, offers some encouragement: “Speed dating, guys! Come on and join!” the junior exercise specialist major yells across the room.

Some drift toward the sign-up table, others drift away.

The ones who remain receive two items. The first is a blue raffle ticket for a “romantic gift set” to be given away at the end of the evening. The gift set includes various types of heart-shaped candy, Date Movie, a book titled “The Art of the First Date” and a game called The Love Lottery. The second item is a sheet of white paper designed to help participants organize their dates.

“Check ‘yes’ by the people you are interested in and ‘no’ by the ones you are not interested in,” it states. “Feel free to jot down notes in the space provided. At the end, we will collect the sheets and if you and someone else like each other, we’ll set you up!”

The setup

Zack Cline, a freshman integrated language arts major, occasionally glances shyly and furtively across the room at the other blue-and-white checkered tables and their occupants.

Next to him, a man in a navy blue T-shirt sips a drink from the bar in a clear plastic cup, occasionally pushing the ice cubes from side to side with his straw.

His nametag reads “Jeff.” He is number eight.

Most of the tables are empty, containing only a folded pink or red paper that has been placed upright in the center.

The red and pink cards offer emergency conversation starters for those who may need it:

“Where do you see yourself in five years’ time?”

“What is your favorite word and why?”

“If you won the lottery, how would you spend your millions?”

A group of girls chatters and giggles a few tables away. Excited energy seems to be emanating from their table — they’re speed dating for fun, they say.

“I saw it in the paper, and I was like, ‘Let’s do it,’” says Ashley Dailey, a junior integrated math major. “It would be nice if I got something out of it, but I don’t expect to.”

Freshman theater major Corrie Hindenberg agreed.

“I think it’ll be funny,” she says. “40-Year-Old Virgin keeps running through my head.”

In the film, Andy, played by Steve Carrell — the token 40-year-old virgin — is tricked by his co-workers into attending a speed dating session. The session turns out to be a failure when Andy has dates with a few less-than-reputable characters, and he and his friends duck out early.

Though tonight’s date is not nearly as large-scale as the 40-Year-Old Virgin setup, the participants all, unlike Andy, seem at least somewhat pleased to be here.

The date

About 7:30 p.m., Wallace kicks the event off with a friendly yet authoritative command:

“OK, girls, grab a table!”

The four girls head to booths on the far side of the room. Two of them decide to share a booth — a built-in “double date” for each gentleman.

To balance things out, Wallace, Werstler and a couple other members of KSC Programming it at tables as well.

And then the games begin. Wallace announces that each person will have one minute to socialize with the other “dater.” Unsure of where to start, most of the men shrug, trying to look as nonchalant as possible and settle down at the closest booth.

The “scoping out” ritual can be felt, if not always seen, throughout the 15 to 20 minutes of dating. Eyes dart quickly across the room from this booth to that table to that chair. Nervous fingers play with pens and fold the corners of the checklists.

Doubtful about how to get started, several of the couples resort to the conversation starter cards.

“So, where do you see yourself in five years?”

“I see myself in prison,” someone jokes.

Some of the participants are simply looking for something to do on a Friday night, not actually expecting to meet Romeo or Juliet. But it seems as if most come with a glimmer of hope.

Cline, whose interests include writing and reading (“Hamlet,” especially, he says), came only partially out of curiosity.

“I have nothing else to do on a Friday night,” he says, and then pauses. “Plus, I’m kinda lonely, too.”

And then there’s senior chemistry major Jovan Thompson.

“I was hungry,” he says with a smile. “I work over in the post office, and I thought I’d come check this out."

The wrap-up

As the evening progresses, participants seem to become more at ease with one another. Laughter can be heard from the various tables as daters read through the questions on the cards and then begin their own conversations. By the time the last pairing has finished its allotted minute, the tension that seemed to dominate the atmosphere at the event’s beginning has almost completely dissipated.

Wallace announces the winning number for the romantic raffle, and Hindenberg responds with a gleeful shout, jumping out of her seat to claim her prize.

Overall, she says, it was an enjoyable evening — especially with her winnings.

“It was pretty funny because it was rather awkward,” she says, still surveying the contents of the gift bag.

One by one, participants grab their coats and wander out the door. The bartender still stands behind the bar, watching the television. An occasional freeloader sneaks a plate of meatballs from the picked-over food table. The group of guys on stage seems to have perfected the lipsyncing routine, and several have begun eyeing the food table as well.

Even though the turnout was lower than last year’s event and it doesn’t seem that anyone was paired up, participants have — if nothing else — gained the experience of getting out of their comfort zones.

And, of course, it was something to do on a Friday night.

Abbey Stirgwolt is a senior newspaper journalism major.
This is her first story for The Burr.
Contact her at astirgwo@kent.edu.

STORY Abbey Stirgwolt
PHOTO Katie Roupe