Don’t know what you didn’t have in the first place until it’s gone…February 28, 2011
“Give me half a million dollars,” says Psycho Dave, sitting at my kitchen table with an old school adding machine overflowing with paper. He’s also wearing a visor, as if he’s some sort of anachronistic accountant.
“What makes you think I have half a million dollars?” I say.
“Nothing, and that makes me suspect that you actually do have that kind of cash on you,” says Psycho Dave.
“And what do you need half a million dollars for?” I say.
“A new start-up business,” says Psycho Dave. “I call it Speed Hating.”
This raises my eyebrow. “Go on…”
“You know how Speed Dating is supposed to be a very quick way to meet people for dating relationships, right?” says Psycho Dave. “Speed Hating is going to be the very quick way to end those potential relationships before they even begin.”
“So you’re going to abort a relationship in the dating womb before it even has the capacity to turn into a loveless, soul-sapping, emotionally-devastating fiasco?” I say.
“Yeah, instead of getting three minutes to find out if the person across from you is dating material, you spend those three minutes berating them for their shortcomings and wrong-doings,” says Psycho Dave.
“But how does the person know what shortcomings and wrong-doings the person across from them has if they’ve just met?” I say.
“You fill out a thorough questionnaire before the event,” says Psycho Dave. “And you leave us the numbers of your ex’s so we can conduct further research to see why you truly are not dateable.”
“And I take it most of the seed money you want from me is for the research,” I say.
“Research, overhead, printer toner, a diamond-encrusted codpiece, fresh breast milk from Romanian whores, the helicopter from Airwolf…” says Psycho Dave. “You know, standard business expenses.”
“Right…” I say. “So the Speed Hating… it’s both people yelling at each other about what’s wrong with their relationship that they haven’t had yet? Or does one get to go for a minute and a half and then the other goes for a minute and a half?”
“No, it’s like a normal relationship,” says Psycho Dave. “The bell rings and you either get to yelling or you go right to passive-aggressive stares and emotional unavailability. Either way when those three minutes are up you have completely broken up with the person you hadn’t even dated yet.”
“It would save a lot of time and money…” I say, musing on the implications of Speed Hating. “And in a lot of cases, you wouldn’t lose anything either. Sometimes your girlfriend wrecks your car. Sometimes your boyfriend punches holes in your wall. Sometimes possessions get nicked during the move-out stage of the failed relationship. None of that happens during Speed Hating.”
“So are you going to give me that half million dollars or what?” says Psycho Dave.
“I have six Pounds twenty,” I say.
“Why do you have British money?” says Psycho Dave.
“I don’t know,” I say. “But I do recall drinking a whole lot of vodka and laundry detergent the other night. Maybe I was drinking with the Queen. That’s the joy of alcohol-induced blackouts. Anything is possible!”
Psycho Dave declined to take my six pounds twenty (or 10.08 American) as an initial investment into his Speed Hating business because it wouldn’t cover the cost of a gallon of Romanian whore breast milk, let alone Airwolf.