The Blind Date by Landish, Lauren (suggested reading .txt) 📕

Does that feel overwhelming or promising?

I wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, but my lips tilt up, which means I must be pleased with it on some level. It’s probably only because it proves that BlindDate works, like a proud dad when their kid makes the winning touchdown. That number is proof of concept. A success in and of itself.

I click on the heart icon with an envelope overlaid that denotes my inbox and hold my breath.

First, there’s Toni, who says she’d love to show me a good time if I just contact her at this off-site website. I report that profile to the app admins and delete the message, moving on.

That’s a piss-poor start, but the next one is better.

Bethany writes that she never does this, and she hopes I don’t think her too forward, but she couldn’t help but reach out when she saw our high-percentage match of eighty-two. That is good, so I click into her profile and look around. She’s a librarian with a master’s degree, working on a doctorate, who teaches undergraduate library science.

That’s a lot of . . . books. Not that I’m a cretin, but I don’t exactly have a TBR stack on the nightstand either. Other than some inspirational autobiographies of businesspeople I admire, I couldn’t name the last thing I read strictly for pleasure.

I try to imagine what the AI saw in our answers to match us up. I guess that she’s detail-oriented, driven, and ambitious. There’s a quote in her profile, but I don’t recognize it. A Google search tells me I’ve never heard of the book either.

Hmm, I picture going on a date with Bethany The Librarian—an author appearance where some bow-tied old man reads from a thick tome, the audience nodding along and clapping politely before fawning over the man, asking for autographs and quoting lines verbatim. Bethany probably has a bun and wears glasses, turtlenecks, and sensible shoes. I bet she talks about the classics in reverent tones and sneers at the mass-produced drivel on the current bestseller lists.

Okay, that’s harsh, especially considering all I’m going by is her career and one quote.

I make a note to allow members to personalize their profiles more to show their individual personalities. Every little bit helps as people make decisions on whether to reach out to a match.

Despite the high match, I send Bethany a simple note thanking her for the message but letting her down gently. Since I really only signed up to run research, I don’t feel guilty, but my conscience requires me to be upfront and not leave her dangling on a hook, wondering about my response. Or the lack thereof.

I scan through several other messages and ultimately end up using some version of the same polite ghost message for those as well. But then one a few lines down catches my attention.

Rachel. There’s a red heart next to her name, denoting a perfect match.

That’s an Easter egg we added into the coding, deciding any match with over ninety percent compatibility should be noted. For the user, to celebrate and create excitement and urgency. For us, to track the AI’s accuracy.

Clicking into the message, I’m curious about her already. Who is she and what is it that makes the AI think we’re such a good fit? Maybe she’s a stone-cold workaholic with a never-ending need to improve, I think wryly.

I’m quickly struck by two things. One, our percent match is . . . astronomical. A ninety-six percent match?

Is that even possible? Maybe there was a glitch? Or fate using BlindDate to match two souls?

But then I read her message and laugh.

Rachel: Hi, Mark! Ninety-six percent match? I don’t believe it. Did you hack this app so you’d get matches with everyone or something? If so, my props to your techy skills. LOL (and also . . . a polite clap so you don’t hack my credit history). If you’re not a midnight hacker, I might be scared because 96% is a lot of pressure to live up to, and while I’m pretty spectacular, I absolutely leave breadcrumbs on the counter every time I cook and snore when I lie on my left side. If perfect is what you’re looking for, keep on scrolling. If real might be your deal, message me back?

Glitch, definitely a mistake.

There are smiley face emojis sprinkled throughout the message and she actually typed ‘LOL’. There is no way I’m a ninety-six percent match with this woman.

Without even meaning to, I click into her profile. I want to see how wackadoodle she is, like are we talking ‘aliens are real and live among us’ or a ‘prevent war with good vibes and kale smoothies’ sort? Or worse, is she a boil your bunny type of crazy? If I can figure it out, maybe that’ll help the coders decipher what went wrong in the AI matching algorithm.

What I find isn’t crazy, though.

The list of likes and dislikes sounds reasonable. Doesn’t everyone loathe toast crumbs in their butter but love the sound of birds chirping? Well, I mean I guess I do. I can’t recall that I’ve sat around and listened to birds specifically, but the idea of birdsong is . . . pleasant enough, I suppose. And also, that’s two times already that she’s mentioned breadcrumbs. Is she that messy? Or does she have an Italian-level love of bread?

Her hobbies are photography, volunteering, and making the world a better place. That’s a bit scary, if I’m honest. I could argue that I’m trying to make the world a better place by creating a way for people to meet and find their soulmate, but I suspect Rachel means something much different. Is she protesting nuclear war on weekends or volunteering at food banks? Either way, it feels comparatively grander than app creation.

But still not crazy.

What are you looking for? I scroll down to this section of the profile, interested to see what she filled in. I’d like to have a real connection with someone, deeper than appearances or preconceived