By Hannah Fortune
In the run up to Valentine’s Day this year, the Aberdeen University Students’ Association (AUSA) offered a speed dating event. As a dedicated journalist I felt it was my duty to go. I went with purely journalistic intentions and had absolutely no visions of true love. The Student Union was kept open late with union brew offering coffee and alcoholic drinks! I started with just a coffee not wanting to get too comfortable too quickly or seem desperate. Desperate to report, obviously. I had worn my favorite reporting dress, which had long sleeves to hide talking points on my arm in case I got stuck. Stuck on the pure journalistic topics.
When I walked into the Union I was met with fairy lights and wonky paper hearts. There was a small fire starting where they overlapped but I ignored that. The university’s rector Iona Fyfe sat in the corner playing Doric renditions of overly depressing breakup songs. It really set the tone for the rest of the night. After getting a coffee, I was escorted to a table by a member of the Shotgun Wedding Society, which was running the event. The rules were quickly explained to us, we’d get 30 seconds with each candidate before they moved on. I had already filled out a brief form when signing up for the event where I gave a quick summary of myself, including my age and what I’m studying.
An overly loud bell rang through the Union and the candidates came in. The first suitor came over and stood on the other side of the table (the university could only afford one chair per table.) Jack, a third year studying medical sciences, introduced himself by shaking my hand. He was still in his scrubs and smelled vaguely of bleach. “So what brings you here?”
I decided to be honest, “I write for the newspaper and was just wanting to report on the event.” He stayed silent, just swaying slightly on his feet.
“Newspaper?” he replied just looking at me.
The Student one,” I replied, staring back. Was this love?
“Is it any good?” he asked.
“Well, I think so,” I replied defensively.
“Can’t be that good if I’ve never heard of it.” We just waited until the bell rang for what felt like lifetimes later. Nevermind on that love comment.
My next suitor approached in a tweed blazer and wellies. He reached out and took my hand to kiss. “So what are your thoughts on immigration, m’lady?” he asked before I could recover. I left to get a drink. Then another. Iona Fyfe taunted me in the corner.
The bell rang again announcing the (what felt like) millionth and final round, the event lasting 15 minutes in total and costing a very reasonable and affordable £45. I made my way back to my table, checking the prompts I had on my arm. I actually recognised the last candidate, a history student from my year. We chatted comfortably for the allotted 30 seconds and went for a drink once the event was done. I was actually feeling hopeful that the event hadn’t been a total disaster. After a couple of drinks I asked if he’d like to get coffee. He looked embarrassed. “Oh, I’m not looking for anything serious, I didn’t think you’d get so attached.”
I’ve decided I’m happy to die alone actually.