Calgarians are too fast for love. At least, that’s how Cathy Saykaly-Stevens, events co-ordinator for Calgary Speed Dating, paints it.

Rewind, though. With its bustle, Calgary should be a veritable dating hot spot — or at least possess a moniker as charming as Lake Disease’s. Indeed, a relatively fertile economy has yielded an interesting singles landscape: According to Statistics Canada, Calgarians are relatively young, with our median age being 35.7 — more than four years less than the national median age. Of the Calgary area’s 1.3 million population, nearly one-third are unattached. As well, according to a 2008 Ipsos-Reid survey, as a nation, we’re embracing newfangled dating methods — 16 per cent of Canadians, it says, have found love online.

Bing, bang, boom. Fire up Plenty of Fish, hit Hifi’s dance floor — you’re banging! Right? Not so fast.

“Calgarians are too busy to date. People work too much, work too hard and when they have free time, they don’t know what to do with it,” says Saykaly-Stevens.

While Calgary is young and wealthy — the median income of Calgary families leads the nation, though the average downtown dweller pulls in $30,000 — that hasn’t translated to leisure time. (Because as those libertarians might say, “God damn, we work for our money!”) As well, much of Calgary’s population has migrated here from elsewhere, meaning that established social circles, a well-spring of hookup activity, are harder to come by.

But hey, daters gon’ date. We asked Calgarians for their best, worst and horrifying accounts of their city’s dating landscape. Here, in their own words.

CALGARY: STILL A SMALL TOWN

I had been divorced for a few years and wasn’t really dating, so my friend decided to set me up on a “blinder.” My date and I spoke beforehand and made plans to meet at a coffee shop downtown. We did the usual “you wear this and I’ll wear that” to be able to spot each other. When I arrived, she was already there and got up to join me in line to order coffee. We had just gotten through the greetings when we got to the front of the line, ready to order.

Behind the counter, I recognized the guy but couldn’t remember from where. He then looks at me and says, “Hey J., how’s it going?” He calls his wife over, and I recognize her as well. Then it comes to me. They used to coach and hang out with my ex-wife.

So the guy says — right in front of my potential soulmate with obviously no clue — “How’s married life treating you?” His wife clued in first and gave him a shove, but I could have died right there. I made some embarrassed joke about being split from my wife and he sheepishly went into damage control. But the damage was done; it was too late.

Needless to say, the conversation with my date didn’t regain ground — she was turned off — and we never saw each other again. I don’t think she was buying my divorce excuse. I haven’t seen the couple again, either.

— J. the Divorcee (Really, I am.)

SPEED DATING BURNS

Before signing on for the mixed-gender queer speed dating event at the university a couple of years ago, I’d always thought of it as the stuff of sitcoms or romcoms rather than real life. Indeed, after it was over, I wondered if it wasn’t better suited to the former.

I felt optimistic at the time, having some seemingly good cards up my sleeve. For starters, I figured with my recent breakup I could play for admiration by bravely returning to the scene so soon — and for not just one date, but 20.

I also thought I could show off my dry wit. There was a list of conversation starters on the back of the sheet, and one of them caught my eye: “If your love life was a food, what would it be?” I thought it was clever to liken mine to a sourdough loaf, something that ferments untouched for a long time, but leads to a tasty result. Most people responded with what seemed like genuine laughter, but perhaps they were just being polite. For the two people I sat opposite the whole time while we rotated around the table, hearing my story so often must have been rather annoying.

I can’t recall any of the other conversation starters, but I found if you needed to consult them during a date, they weren’t likely to be much help. It was usually possible to think of appropriate small talk, and if not I tried to at least feign interest in people I clearly had no rapport with. They didn’t always respond accordingly, and I can still recall the transparent scorn of that preppy history student. If a week is a long time in politics, even five minutes can feel like an eternity in dating.

Better memories would be nice. When I got the results a week later, I saw a few girls had agreed to be “friends,” which had been an option, but not my desired outcome (nor gender). Then I read that no one wanted to go on a date with me. I later realized I’d jumped to conclusions here — it was possible some people had wanted to date me but I hadn’t reciprocated (both people had to circle each other). Was I too picky?

It also occurred to me that a third-party email saying, “You didn’t match any dates” was no worse — and perhaps easier — than the aftermath of a “real” date where the promised call never comes. If I ever do it again, perhaps I’ll circle everyone who participates. If that doesn’t work...

— Sourdough

INSURANCE AND

REGISTRATION, PLEASE

I met a guy through mutual friends at a bar one night. He asks for my number and calls a few days later to arrange a date. Normal so far, right? So he comes to pick me up and we’re on our way to dinner and deep in conversation when the red and blue lights flash in the rear-view. But he didn’t appear to be speeding. So he dutifully pulls over and finds out he’s driving with no registration or insurance — it was expired.

He claimed he didn’t know, but who knows.

So we had to leave the car where we were pulled over and were told to go get insurance and come back to pick it up. At this point it’s 8 p.m. on a Saturday and pouring rain. We ended up hailing a cab and driving to several locations until we found somewhere to get insurance. About an hour-and-a-half later, we hail another cab to a restaurant and finally get something to eat and drink. I’m soaking wet, mascara running down my cheeks, hair likened to a dog in a tub. I’m impatient, hungry and wondering what I got myself into.

Needless to say, I opted to leave him at the restaurant and catch my own cab home rather than take my chances in his car ever again! He texted me the next day and said he’d hoped our “bad date” wouldn’t keep me from going out with him again. Ha! I still laugh when I hear anyone say that.

— Taxi!

BEATEN, BLOODIED, BLUE

So, it was like 2009 and it was my very first blind date. I was like, “OK I will try this!” I was new to the city, and didn’t really want to date anyone I was meeting at work. So, you know, we agreed to go just for drinks or whatever. He came and picked me up on a Tuesday night, we went for drinks, and everything was fine until he dropped me off at my house.

We pulled up in front and we saw a commotion, like a fight going on — this guy was beat up real bad. He had black eyes, blood on his face and he was going in and out of consciousness. The ambulance didn’t come for like 45 minutes. So, my date was like, “Um well, I should probably move my car because I am parked where the ambulance will go.”

OK, you don’t have to stay, I told him. So he left!

The other people were like, “Oh, your boyfriend was so nice.”

I was like, “That’s not my boyfriend; it’s a first date!”

The next day I come home and police tape was up — the police were everywhere. They knocked on my door and said the guy died, and my date and I had to fill out a report. So I called him and was like, “Hey, I don’t know if you ever wanted to talk to me again but too bad!”

Welcome to my life. We never went out again.

— Name withheld, witness protection program

Count chompula

After a particularly bad breakup, I turned to online dating to meet people. I was usually able to filter the guys that I met and talked to online before I met them in person. You can usually tell after a few conversations if you’re going to be able to stand being near them for any period of time. I have learned, though, that some people are adept at masking themselves, only to show their true colors after a first meet.

“Wednesday Guy” — that’s what we’ll call him — and I met for coffee at Tim Horton’s. My first clue that something was off should’ve been when he admitted that he didn’t really drink coffee and ordered a chocolate milk. I’m not entirely sure what grown man drinks chocolate milk at any time other than in the comfort of his own living room. But whatever, I went with it.

We’d been talking for awhile online, and I was really into him. Or the “him” he had presented. We sat in my car and talked for awhile, and at that inevitable moment of awkward silence, he leans over for a kiss. I don’t object.

And then…

He bites me. Like, hard.

On the neck. No warm-up. Nothing. Just a straight chomp to the jugular.

I pull back in shock. Have I met a vampire? He’s grinning, like I’m supposed to be instantly turned on. The moment is ruined. I’m now faced with a real problem — do I ask him to leave? Do I slap him? Do I get out of the car? Wait, it’s my car. Thoughts race through my head. I’m not the best at hiding my feelings, and I’m sure my disgust was written all over my face. He mutters something, then leaves. I drive home. I ignore his texts.

It got me to wondering — first, who was the girl that enjoyed biting so much that he managed to somehow get the impression that it was a good idea for all women? What sort of kinky stuff was she into? Secondly, at what point do you confess your weird fetishes to the other party? A simple conversation could’ve avoided the annoyance. Then again, there’s also the idea that some things shouldn’t be shared right away.

I feel like I should have created a checklist for online dating beginning with Question 1: Do you have any sort of weird sexual fetishes that you’re going to be busting out and blindsiding me with on the first date? If yes, proceed to the door.

— Card-carrying Team Jacob member