It's Just a $1500 Lunch

Okay, I shoulda known better. I should have done my homework. Even as I typed my information into the form at the It’s Just Lunch Web site, fear of the hard sell prickled at the back of my neck.

For those who may not know, It’s Just Lunch markets itself as a matchmaking and dating service for “busy professionals.” The first thing I noticed about the Ann Arbor IJL site was that the photo of the Kerrytown farmers’ market was flipped so the words on the silo were mirror-imaged. The second thing I noticed was a lack of a fee structure. But I figured I’d have the opportunity to ask soon.

Really soon. An e-mail arrived immediately and my answering machine picked up a message soon after that. I got another e-mail and another phone call the next day. Today, day three, brought another phone message. Since I had some time off in the afternoon, I called IJL.

She asked me where I heard about them. She told me a bit about their interview and matching process. Somewhere in there she intoned solemnly, “Women aren’t used to spending money for dates. But we do spend a lot of time on the wrong guys. Guys on the other hand feel like they spend a lot of money on dates, but don’t necessarily get what they want out of it.”

What kind of weird, Chick-Lit platitudinous shit is this?

She stated she was thrilled to have the opportunity to tell me about her clients: very busy doctors, “professionals,” and “educators” who don’t want to date someone from work, aren’t into the bar scene, and just don’t have time to meet someone for dating.

She was evidently looking at my info. “Ooh, you’re young,” she cooed.
My lip curled. “What’s that mean?” I asked. “Are all your clients over 50?”
“I just mean you’re younger than me,” she said.
Ah.

She continued by asking me about what I’m looking for. Straight off, I told her income is not one of my criteria. Absolutely no smokers. Integrity, curiosity, sense of humor are desirable.

“Height, weight?” she prompted.
I paused. “Doesn’t really matter,” I started to form a picture of what her clients might be like.
“Anything like race or religion?” A phone rang in the background.
“Race isn’t an issue. I’m tolerant, but not particularly religious, so if that’s important for somebody, I’m not going to be a good match for him.”

Then she prattled about how 80% of her clients have degrees, how many first dates “become” second dates, and how horrible it is to be single. “When you’re single, Saturday comes along, and there you are wondering what to do, home alone with your cat or dog.” My left eyebrow shot up as she continued, a little more hushed, like it was shameful, “I know, I used to be single. ‘Don’t you ever leave me,’ my husband says. Ha ha ha.”

Uh, yeah.
One semester I had a four-hour class on Saturday.
Saturday is for doing homework and designing ads and going to the farmers' market and scrubbing the bathtub and getting work done on my second job. Most weekends, the cat would be really happy if I had an hour to play with her.

I didn’t exactly cry alone while downing a quart of ice cream this past Saturday either - I watched Michigan’s football team wipe Notre Dame’s field with Brady Quinn’s helmet. Law School P. was on my couch. We ate a pot of vegetarian chili and drank the Sierra Nevada Pale Ale he brought over. While Law School P. is, admittedly, not my boyfriend, he is a friend I’ve known for over a year, and someone I met through a free ad on frickin’ Craigslist, of all places.

“Is anything like race or religion important to you?” IJL lady asked, repeating an earlier question. Was she not listening?
My Turtle totem took over and the plastron started to close. “No.”

She rushed through the subscription rates: $1500 for a year - this supposedly gets you 14 dates. A six-month subscription is $1100. I can buy 137 bottles of Fin du Monde for that.

I told her I worked at a non-profit and couldn’t afford it. I got the response I pretty much expected - it’s so much better than combing through Internet dating sites! And isn’t love worth any price?

She repeated the statement about women not being used to paying for dates. I sputtered something about paying for clothes and make-up and oh, like, half the check as often as not. Although Aussie Paul did have to buy his own plane tickets.
“Kim, you need come in here and let me give you some tips. Get those guys to pay up!”

Turtle's shell snapped shut.

I regret having told her as much as I did. Plus, it was a waste of 15 cell phone minutes. But if I ever decide I want to be pressured into a date with a rich sucker who has no time to spare for a relationship, I’ll know where to call.