Speed Dating – Danish Style

Last week I was sat in an editorial meeting for the University of Copenhagen’s newspaper. We were discussing ideas about the theme of our next issue, ‘finding love in Denmark’. Targeted primarily to international students as an English speaking paper, I suggested – jokingly – that speed dating would be a great way of finding Danish love. Our editor wrote the idea on the white board.

Shit…

So, four days later I found myself booking a slot in the 18-26 category of Copenhagen’s main speed dating company. The premise: write an article about how to meet the Danes. What better way is there to get to know the Copenhagen youth of today than talking to random girls for 6 whole minutes each?

I haven’t written the article yet. To be honest I’m stumped on my ‘angle’ towards it. However, I am of course loyal to my blog, and so have documented the action of the evening below… enjoy.

5:30
Get home from uni and quickly put the water on boil. Cook a filling but relatively boring meal of rice, eggs, veg and sausages (less washing up for all concerned) and scoff it in front of the laptop, trying to figure out where the ‘venue’ is for the adventure to follow.

6:00
Quick shower to get rid of that old book smell I must have picked up in the English library earlier in the day. Rummage through cupboard looking for something to wear.

6:15
Shirt: the only one not crumpled in a heap will have to do. It was once ironed – long ago – but has now taken up the ‘flat because I’ve been squashed into a bag with 20kg of other clothes for a flight to Denmark’ kind of look.

6:30
Find a bottle of aftershave in my left running shoe. So THAT’S where I put it for protection during the flight.

6:45
Walk out the door, get down the stairs and onto the street outside.

6:46
Forget my map and wallet, turn round, enter my building, go up the stairs, into my room, pick up my map, wallet and… oh yes my phone, and walk out again.

7:00
Enter the bar of doom.

It’s quite a scary thing walking into a bar, knowing you’re about to be judged by a load of strangers. Of course they’re in the same boat, but you forget about that once you’re in. The ‘dating’ would be held upstairs, away from the main restaurant where NORMAL people were happily chomping away at their meals. A woman looked at me and noticed my little name badge on the breast pocket of my shirt: I turned away quickly.

The actual speed dating was not bad at all to be perfectly honest. I was petrified at the start, but soon you get into a rhythm. I think, being from England, I may have had an advantage over the other guys – not that I was playing survival of the fittest in my mind or anything. It’s simply that I have at least some different things to talk about.

The worst thing was the first introduction, where I felt compelled to apologise every time for not being able to speak Danish. I know three sentences, maybe four, and that’s it:

1) “Jeg hedder Joe”
To be honest this is practically a redundant statement, as my nametag proves beyond explanation what I’m called.

2) “Jeg kommer fra England”
Great, this is probably assumed by the bewildered lady in front of me by the fact that my first sentence lacked all the sophistication and pronunciation of a real Dane.

3) “Jeg kan ikke tale dansk”
You don’t say…

So, with these killer sentences primed neatly in my arsenal, I set forth into the world of speed dating.

And what an odd wilderness it is. The women get to stay put on their own table, while the blokes are whistled round the room, chasing the next lady like a randy Restoration fop.

We all had cards, so that after each date we could write down the other half’s name, a description for oneself to keep, and tick either ‘ja’ or n’ej’ in the box provided. I appreciate this may all seem boring and obvious, especially to you experienced daters, but I must say holding a really interesting and nice chat with someone for six minutes, only to tick the ‘nej’ box after you’ve moved on, basically gives you that sense of power not yielded in other forms of social interaction. One can be very two-faced, and get away with it.

I would like to have said that in the end I felt a bit of a Richard Gere, swimming through the ladies with a beat in my step and a glint in my eye. But no, maybe more like Bottom, as Titania seduces him to all the confidence in the word, while the audience look on in pitying bemusement.