The room is decorated in a cheesy but charming Valentine's Day motif, with paper cutouts reminiscent of what you might see in an elementary—school classroom. When everyone's seated in their numbered places, library manager Johnette Morales lays out the ground rules: Each "date" will last five minutes, during which you can chat about whatever you like, although there are suggested questions on a sheet in front of you. When the whistle blows, men will move on to the next station, while the women will stay put. Afterward, if you're interested in talking to someone further, you're free to give them your phone number or e—mail address. With the uneven numbers, I've got two rounds to sit out, and it turns out that I'm starting with the first one. Morales sits down and tells me about the event. It's the first of its kind in the library district, although it's based on similar activities at libraries in Europe. Even though the turnout is small, combined with the enthusiasm for the earlier session, it's enough to consider Book a Date a success.
The whistle blows and I head to my first actual date, with a substitute teacher named Tammy (names have been changed). Tammy loves kids and books by Laurell K. Hamilton, but she finds Stephen King (my favorite author) too scary. The last movie she saw was the Hilary Swank inspirational—teacher drama Freedom Writers, and it made her cry. Clearly we are not a match.
Next up is my sister, who doesn't seem to think any of the men here are going to be right for her. Instead she tells me about a guy she spent time with at a bar the previous night. Before we can delve too deeply into that subject, I move on to Judy, who works at Nellis, training people who do daycare in their homes. She loves traveling and the outdoors and gets excited when I tell her I've used online personals. I end up explaining the process to her; it seems like she's already working on a way to meet someone else.
After Judy comes another library employee killing time, followed by Erin, a social worker. The guy in front of me is lingering longer and longer after each whistle blows, and I have to stand impatiently behind him as he says his goodbyes. Erin is the most appealing woman of the lot, a former violinist who went to the Las Vegas Academy and likes reading Wally Lamb and Nick Hornby. After her I move on to Monique, a 46—year—old electrical contractor who also went to the earlier session but found the men there too old for her. She tells me that she reads nothing but self—help books.
Once the final whistle blows, there's a drawing for a free dinner at Ruth's Chris Steak House (my sister wins; maybe she'll take me as her date) and some mingling. I contemplate giving Erin my card, but I know from experience with online personals that someone who seems mildly interesting will rarely spark more than that, so I pass. Truthfully, the photographer for the Review—Journal is the most attractive women there; I consider asking her for five minutes of her time, but it seems inappropriate.
As my sister and I walk out, one of the men approaches her to hand off his contact info. "Did you guys hit it off?" he asks.