Carrie Seim. Midwestern Wisdom.

Hilarious Skype Dating Debacle

Apparently, dating on Skype is still Greek to me.

by Carrie Seim

All my single ladies – let’s be brutally honest. The real reason we’re still single is that we hate dating. And the reason we hate dating is that it’s a colossal time suck.

The hours it takes us to get ready – hair, makeup, clothes, nails, shoes, dental work – could be spent on so many more productive things. Like expense reports. Or cleaning toilets. Or creating a Mad Men graphic flow chart.

But a new software application for Skype promises to change all that, taking the hating out of dating.

Skyecandy (www.skyecandy.com) is an innovative form of virtual speed dating that takes place entirely from the comfort of your laptop. That’s right, dating no longer requires clothing from the neck down. A webcam, a coat of lipstick, a pair of fuzzy slippers – you’re set for your hot first date.

(Don’t even stress about makeup – the relatively poor video quality is a blessing for your complexion.)

Skyecandy costs nothing – you just sign up via your existing Skype account or download Skype to your computer. (That’s free, too, and only takes a few minutes. Unless you spend an hour perfecting your profile snapshot like I did.)

Oh yes, I tried out the merchandise. And lived to Skype about it.

I signed up for my first virtual date on Wednesday afternoon. I was greeted by a vibrant map of the world that invited me to click from country to country and see how many eligible bachelors were logged on.

Russia – 3.

Australia – 2.

Brazil – 1.

United States of America – 14.

Yep, during a busy lunchtime in the United States of America, only 14 users were logged on. And those 14 weren’t necessarily signed up for a speed dating session.

So when I checked into the session itself (a new one begins every six minutes), I kept my parameters as wide as possible.

I requested a male between the ages of 18 and 99, who lived “anywhere” in the world. As long as he had a webcam and was breathing, I’d jump into the Skype with him.

For my first session, I signed up to meet five guys. Each date lasts five minutes, with a one minute transition, during which you can vote “yes” or “no” and rate your date’s friendliness.

Easy peasy. I adjusted my webcam, plucked some lettuce out of my teeth and watched the speed dating clock tick down.

Even though I was kicking it on my living room floor, I started to get some serious first date jitters. But I needn’t have worried. At the appointed time, I got a little ping with this message: “Oops, there is no match for Date 1.”

Gaaaaaa! Story of my life!

I stuck around as the exact same nightmare replayed itself four times. Finally, on date five, I met the ONLY MAN IN THE ENTIRE WORLD checked into Skyecandy speed dating. I am not exaggerating; he was the only man IN THE WORLD signed on.

That man was Delimichalis. Age 20. Of Greece.

I’ve decided for the benefit of posterity, I’m going to include our exchange virtually unedited below. A few things you should keep in mind as you read:

1)    Delimichalis’ microphone wasn’t working, so even though we could see each other via webcam, we typed rather than talked. Which worked out well for the purposes of oversharing with ya’ll.

2)    Delimichalis and I were wearing the EXACT SAME SHIRT. I am not making this up. We were both sporting navy-and-white striped t-shirts. Skintight, I might add. See? If we’d met on a regular old email dating site, we would have missed this potential destiny-making detail.

3)    Delimichalis was way cute. And barely legal. Awesome.

[12:17:45 PM] *** Call from Delimichalis Marinos

[12:20:33 PM] Carrie: Hi — are you there?

[12:21:07 PM] Delimichalis: hi

[12:21:46 PM] Carrie: this is my first time trying skype dating — I think we are the only two people in the world online right now — ha!

 [12:21:58 PM] *** Call ended ***

(Wow, that joke didn’t go over as planned.)

[12:22:40 PM] Delimichalis: are you there?

[12:22:48 PM] Carrie: hi, I’m here

 [12:23:57 PM] Delimichalis: i dont speek English

(And once again, dating is entirely Greek to me. I decide to stick with simple sentence and phrases that everyone, even the most basic English speaker, could understand.)

 [12:25:44 PM] Carrie: first time?

(She said with a wink.)

 [12:25:54 PM] Delimichalis: yes

[12:26:00 PM] Delimichalis: you?

[12:26:03 PM] Carrie: yes

[12:26:19 PM] Carrie: are you in school?

[12:26:24 PM] Delimichalis: no

[12:26:37 PM] Delimichalis: im finiche

 [12:26:41 PM] Carrie: cool

[12:26:45 PM] Delimichalis: you?

 [12:26:47 PM] Carrie: I am a writer

(At this point, Delimichalis runs to his bookshelf and holds up a book: “The Secret.” I’m not sure if he’s trying to gesticulate the meaning of “writer,” or if he’s trying to spiritually enlighten me. Either way, it’s awesome.)

[12:27:17 PM] Carrie: The Secret … ahhh.

[12:27:22 PM] Delimichalis: yes

[12:27:30 PM] Carrie: do you like that book?

[12:27:38 PM] Delimichalis: little

(He holds up his fingers to indicate “little.”)

 [12:27:59 PM] Carrie: you’re in Greece?

[12:28:03 PM] Delimichalis: yes

[12:28:09 PM] Delimichalis: kreta

[12:28:15 PM] Delimichalis: KRHTH

[12:28:20 PM] Carrie Seim: I have no idea what that means. but it must be beautiful

 [12:28:43 PM] Delimichalis: you

(I wink and make the “little bit” gesture. I’ll flirt in any language.)

[12:28:46 PM] Carrie: have you ever been to new york?

[12:28:53 PM] Delimichalis: no

[12:29:48 PM] Carrie: I want to visit Greece some day

[12:29:54 PM] Carrie: for vacation

[12:30:21 PM] Delimichalis: its no good

[12:30:26 PM] Carrie Seim: no?

[12:30:31 PM] Delimichalis: no

[12:30:33 PM] Delimichalis: no!

(He’s serious about this no Greece vacay thing.)

 [12:31:07 PM] Carrie Seim: OK. Got it.

 [12:32:17 PM] Delimichalis: euxaristh mou

[12:32:27 PM] Delimichalis: game???

[12:32:36 PM] Carrie Seim: pardon ??

[12:32:47 PM] Delimichalis: in skyoe

[12:32:51 PM] Delimichalis: skype

 [12:33:02 PM] Carrie: how do you play?

[12:35:23 PM] Delimichalis: what you play?

(Gaaaa! This was getting too “who’s on first?” for me. And wasn’t our five minute session supposed to be over with a full 10 minutes ago? Something was going terribly awry and I suddenly panicked.)

[12:35:51 PM] Carrie: I just got an email from my boss

 [12:35:59 PM] Carrie: I have to go back to work

[12:36:07 PM] Carrie Seim: sorry!

 [12:36:20 PM] Delimichalis: its nice tou tolk

[12:36:23 PM] Carrie: you too!

[12:36:27 PM] Carrie: your English is good!

[12:36:37 PM] Carrie: better than my Greek — ha

[12:36:38 PM] Delimichalis: ha

[12:36:56 PM] Delimichalis: good work you have

[12:37:05 PM] Carrie: thank you — goodbye!

There must have been some sort of technical glitch, because we never got to the part where we vote “yes” or “no” and rank our dates’ friendliness. But Delimichalis, if you’re reading, I vote “yes” – as long you promise to never change your shirt or your career in “finiche.”

To my single ladies, as you go forth on your own Skype Dating adventures, I wish you all the “good work you have” in the world!

Terror -- and Chex Mix -- in the Skies

- Carrie Seim

Last week I hopped a Virgin America flight from Los Angeles to New York, a trek I’ve made a million times. I savor those five hours of escape, where I can watch junky reality TV (Tori and Dean marathon, anyone?) order platters of food from a touch screen (Virgin is such an enabler) and impress my seatmates with an assumed identity (just call me a Norwegian countess with a book deal).

This particular flight was especially great for two reasons:

1) Just before boarding, the gate agent offered to switch me to an exit row with extra leg room. Since I’m 5’4”, my legs got upgraded to their own zip code.

2) The flight was unreasonably smooth and quiet; nary a bump or baby shriek on radar.

As we flew over the fly-over states, I got lost in my Tori-Spelling-chicken-curry-

wrap reverie. All was grand with the world. Until.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has informed us we’re going to need to go ahead and make an unscheduled emergency landing.”

This terrifyingly perky announcement was followed quickly by: “He’s assured us we’re perfectly safe!”

I’ve seen enough disaster-themed Datelines to know that anytime someone tells you you’re perfectly safe, you’re perfectly screwed. It’s officially time to buckle up and start sacrificing goats.

We quickly dropped to a lower altitude, reversed course and approached Las Vegas airport.

I did what any Norwegian countess would do in this situation: I flipped open my laptop and instant messaged my family with a dramatic farewell. I told them how much I loved them and how it would all be okay. But that if it wasn’t, they should plan a Michael Jackson-worthy funeral for me.

A few minutes later the captain explained that we had a small hole in our cockpit windshield. A hole. Like the thing people get SUCKED OUT OF. OHMYGOD, I was living a movie-of-the-week nightmare! OHMYGOD, who would play me?  

Our captain, who was all calm professional, insisted the hole was quite small. (Don’t all holes start small and then become giant human-sucking craters??) He said we had too much fuel to land safely in Vegas, so air traffic control decided we should fly back to Los Angeles – at a very low altitude – with our flaps up to burn off fuel.

Awesome.

I was gripped by panic, but tried not to show it. Scandinavian royalty have to keep up appearances. Plus, I was in the emergency exit row, which made me a Safety Leader.

I quickly memorized the emergency instruction placard and reminded my seatmates that if necessary, we should throw the emergency door out of the plane, not on the floor where people would trip on it. Same with old ladies and small children.

Surprisingly, everyone remained eerily quiet. I’ve heard more screaming onboard when the galley runs out of peanuts. And to Virgin’s credit, the captain updated us every 15 minutes. Even if you’re piloting hundreds of people to certain death, it’s really the polite thing to do.

As we neared Los Angeles, he announced we’d be circling for one or two hours to burn more fuel. “But we should have you on the ground in no time.”

Nice choice of words, Cap’n.

Finally, after hours of clammy hands, silent prayers and goat sacrificing, we landed without incident at LAX.

And that’s when I began crying. Even Norwegian countesses have to let it once in awhile. I can’t tell you the relief I felt to be alive and safe. It was matched only by my desire to NEVER GET ON A PLANE AND/OR OBJECT WITH WHEELS AGAIN.

But the airline had other plans. They asked that we remain seated while their maintenance chief inspected our little windshield boo-boo.

The flight attendants promised us a $50 flight credit for our troubles. “Please,” I said aloud, “Scandinavian royalty can’t be bought.” Then they promised free snacks and booze. I piped down.

Roughly 90 minutes later, the pilot graced us with this announcement:

“Good news! The maintenance team has decided that our hole is just within limits to fly safely.”

Just within limits?? Was he kidding? Who wants to fly aboard a hunk of junk that’s just within limits? That’s like asking you if you want to bungee jump with a cord that probably won’t break when you leap. Or fly with a pilot who’s not quite blind.

I suppose I could’ve put up a fight and insisted on leaving the plane. But then I thought about that complimentary Chex Mix and decided to brave it out. Five hours after our initial departure, we were again cleared for takeoff. In the exact same plane that had not been repaired whatsoever and still had a gaping hole in the windshield. Just saying.

Fortunately, our déjà vu flight to NYC was all smooth sailing, Pinot Grigio and Tori Spelling. If it weren’t for the big ol’ hole in our cockpit, I’d say we were flying high.