Jessa Crispin Goes Bookstore Speed-Dating

It's amazing what you can pick up at a bookstore these days. Not just the DVDs and CDs that the chains brought to bookselling, or the whimsical incense-smelling back-scratchers that hippie-owned shops offer. Today there are bookstores with liquor licenses, bookstores with tarot-card readers and pet psychics, bookstores with sex toys. And you can even get your husband-to-be at a bookstore.

There used to be some sort of myth that a bookstore was the best place to meet a man. But last time I was in a bookshop a fifty-year-old with a nasty sunburn sat across from me as I read my Francine Prose and leered when I accidentally made eye-contact—and that's the closest I've come to "meeting a man" in a bookstore. And yet, when I read that the Book Cellar, a local independent in Chicago that sells wine and cheese along with books, was hosting a speed-dating night I was actually pleased: Shy readers meeting other shy readers! That actually sounds like a good idea!

I went drinking with my friend Joanne to discuss the possibilities. We decided that, for the good of mankind, we would be guinea pigs for this new dating opportunity; we'd adopt fake names and identities and later tell the world whether it was a good idea or not. We debated using fake Russian accents, and in the end decided not to.

We settled into our chairs, held the cards we were supposed to fill out, and looked with dismay at the crowd. "Have you seen The 40 Year-Old Virgin?" Joanne asked me. "What if that speed-dating scene was actually a documentary?"

We chatted with a few of the women, and they all appeared to be teachers. Most were carrying books with them. One was raving about Mary Doria Russell. Then the host blew a whistle and explained how the evening would work. Six minutes with each person.

Who knew that six minutes could last so very, very long?

I truly thought going into the event that the attendees would be the bookstore's customers. Not so. Evidently, this speed-dating event happens every week, most of the time taking place at a bar. Many of the men had come to these before. I asked each speed dater, "Have you been to this bookstore before?" Not a single one had.

During the break, I wandered by the line for the bathroom, and the women looked shell-shocked. "How's it going?" I asked. Women nearly crumpled into piles on the floor. "Who are these people?" one woman holding an Alex Kotlowitz book asked me. Joanne had been quizzing the men about what their favorite books were, and the responses were interesting. "One said his favorite author is Donald Trump," she told me. I guessed that had been a certain balding accountant, and I was right. "But he's not even like a real accountant," Joanne said, gripping my arm. "He's in payroll."

The second half of the evening went no better. There were two men who barely spoke English. Another guy in a Cubs t-shirt. One guy was really into Philip K. Dick, and I started to perk up a bit, but then he said he was a bouncer at a generic local version of Hooters.

Another gentleman said he was reading Catcher in the Rye at the moment. "Oh, that's a good book," I told him. "Have you read it before?"

"I heard the guy that shot Ronald Reagan was carrying it on him and had to check it out!" says he. "It's a crazy book!"

This event was not going to help readers meet readers. It was going to cause women who read to go home, take a bubble bath, and contemplate running off to a nunnery.

It should have worked. It was so good in theory. I thought for a minute that perhaps it would have succeeded, had the bookstore operated the speed dating itself, instead of bringing in a professional speed-dating company. But then, I thought, who would have been there then? The same women—and the leering guy with the sunburn.

Joanne and I kept our unfilled-out cards and went next door to drink.