The Hinge Experiment: Wait… I Have a Match!

Well, this is awkward.

When I was considering whether The Hinge Experiment™ had run its course, Hinge apparently heard me.

I got a match.

Her name is Airica.

And even more shocking?

We're already talking about meeting Sunday.

Steve the Iguana may have to unpack his bags. 🦎

From Zero Matches to Airica

My last Hinge update wasn't exactly optimistic.

My match queue was empty.

Matches: 0.
Conversations: 0.
Dates: 0.

Meanwhile, traffic to NielFlamm.com was doing considerably better than my dating life.

I was legitimately starting to wonder whether it was time to delete Hinge and move along. After all, there's only so much entertainment I can squeeze out of screenshots saying:

“No matches right now.”

Apparently, Hinge took that personally.

This morning, I liked one of Airica's pictures.

Five minutes later?

💋

Well, hello there.

A response!

From a human!

This changes everything.

Okay, probably not everything. Calm down, Niel.

And We Already Have Something in Common

I noticed that Airica had lived in Las Vegas.

I lived there for about ten years, so I immediately had something to ask about.

My opening wasn't Shakespeare:

“Good morning! Where did you live in Vegas? I lived there for 10 years…”

But I've already established during this experiment that I don't exactly spit mad game.

I'm more of a:

“Hello. Here is a relevant question based upon information you voluntarily provided. Would you care to discuss?”

kind of guy.

Somehow, despite this irresistible charm, the conversation continued.

And now we're making plans for Sunday.

Yes.

An actual day.

For an actual potential date.

With an actual person.

WHAT IS HAPPENING?

There Is One Small Issue

Airica is in Lexington, South Carolina.

That's about a 90-minute drive for me.

Some people might look at that and immediately say:

“Too far.”

I don't.

I like driving.

An hour and a half isn't exactly a commute I'd want to make every morning, but for an opportunity to meet someone I'm interested in?

That's manageable.

Besides, I've spent longer than 90 minutes scrolling through dating profiles with absolutely nothing to show for it.

At least this drive has a destination.

And if we meet and discover there's chemistry?

Then we figure out geography.

If we meet and discover there isn't?

I had a Sunday drive.

There are considerably worse outcomes.

Let's Not Get Ahead of Ourselves

If you've followed The Hinge Experiment, you already know I've learned this lesson.

A match isn't a date.

A conversation isn't a date.

Making plans for a date isn't even necessarily a date.

Until two human beings are physically sitting in the same place at the same time, I'm keeping the champagne firmly corked.

Actually, let's make that Coke Zero.

But this already feels different from some of my previous matches because we're actually discussing meeting.

That's what I've wanted all along.

I'm not looking for an eternal Hinge pen pal.

I'm not trying to collect matches.

I'm not interested in exchanging “Good morning!” messages until Social Security sends us both birthday cards.

Let's meet.

Have a conversation.

Laugh.

Eat something.

See whether we enjoy being around each other.

Dating apps are supposed to be the introduction—not the entire relationship.

So Much for Deleting Hinge

And here is perhaps the funniest part.

I was asking:

Is it time to delete the app?

Hinge apparently responded:

“Not so fast, Baldy.”

Fair enough.

The experiment gets an extension.

As of right now:

Matches: 1.

Active conversations: 1.

Potential Sunday dates: 1.

Distance: About 1½ hours.

Niel's expectations: Cautiously optimistic.

Steve the Iguana: Furious. 🦎

Sorry, Steve.

You're back on the bench.

At least until Sunday.

Because if this date actually happens, The Hinge Experiment will finally accomplish something I've been trying to make happen since I started it:

A date from a dating app.

What a concept.

Stay tuned.

This could get inter

esting.

Well, That Was Fast: I Got My First Hinge Match

Remember when I said the Tinder experiment was over and I had moved on to The Hinge?

Remember when I wondered how long it would take before I got a match?

Apparently, the answer was:

Not very long.

I woke up this morning and got a bit of a late start. No dialysis today, so there wasn't an alarm dragging me out of bed at an ungodly hour. I eventually got myself moving, checked my email, and there it was:

“Niel and Kelli, you matched!”

Wait.

WHAT?

I actually matched with someone?

On a dating app?

Already?

I was surprised.

I was amazed.

And against everything I've learned from online dating thus far, I was even a little...

Hopeful.

Her name is Kelli, and she's in Conway, South Carolina.

That's roughly an hour away from me.

Some people might look at that distance and say, “That's kind of far.”

I look at it and say:

I like to drive.

Problem solved.

But First, I Had Stuff to Do

Despite receiving this potentially historic notification, I didn't immediately drop everything and begin crafting the greatest opening line in the history of online dating.

I had things to do.

Also, let's establish something very important:

I don't spit mad game.

There was no:

"Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"

No carefully researched pickup line.

No ChatGPT-generated Shakespearean sonnet about her eyes.

I eventually opened the conversation with:

“Hello Kelli! How are you coping with the stupid heat and humidity?”

Smooth?

Debatable.

Authentic?

Absolutely.

Because it is stupid hot and humid.

We're in South Carolina in August. You can walk outside for four minutes and somehow need another shower.

So rather than pretending I'm some suave dating-app Casanova, I went with something every person in South Carolina can currently agree upon:

Why is the air wet?

And now...

I wait.

This Is Where the Experiment Gets Interesting

The first hurdle has officially been cleared.

I got a match.

Now we move on to Phase Two of The Hinge Experiment.

Will Kelli respond?

Will we have an actual conversation?

Will we discover we have things in common?

Could there eventually be a drive to Conway—or somewhere in between—to actually meet another human being in person?

Or will the universe continue its recent tradition of using dating apps to teach me valuable lessons about cryptocurrency, WhatsApp, and international investment opportunities?

I don't know.

But right now, I'm choosing optimism.

A real match appeared.

I sent a completely normal message.

She's about an hour away.

I like driving.

And, most importantly, nobody has tried to sell me anything yet.

This is already progress.

Now we wait.

Pray with me, Forest. Pray with me.

Pumpkin Spice in August? Krispy Kreme, We Need to Talk.

I live in the Low Country, where today’s high was 95 degrees with approximately 99% humidity.

Did it actually feel like 120 degrees? Maybe not according to science. According to the amount I was sweating? Absolutely.

Tomorrow, we get to do it all over again. The forecast calls for 94°F — about 34.4°C — with a heat advisory.

So naturally, this is the perfect time for...

PUMPKIN SPICE.

Wait. What?!?!??!

I received an email today from Krispy Kreme. And before anyone starts judging me, I don't go there that often. I apparently maintain enough of a relationship with Krispy Kreme that they know how to find me when they have important doughnut-related news.

The email announced some limited-time flavors.

Café Mocha. Okay. Chocolate icing, coffee-flavored buttercream swirl. I'm listening.

Maple Cheesecake. I like maple. I like cheesecake. This relationship has potential.

Biscoff Cookie Butter. Yum. No further questions.

And then...

Pumpkin Spice Cake.

Excuse me?

IT IS AUGUST 11.

Can we please slow down?

What's the rush?

Is pumpkin spice really that addictive? Are there people sitting around in July checking their calendars and whispering, "Just a few more weeks..."?

I don't understand the draw.

We've spent years complaining that teenagers are growing up too quickly.

Then retailers decided that apparently Christmas needs a three-month warmup, so the moment the last trick-or-treater leaves your driveway on Halloween, somebody starts playing Mariah Carey and putting inflatable reindeer on the lawn.

Now apparently fall doesn't even have to wait for summer to end.

We're skipping right over Labor Day.

We're ignoring the swimming pools.

We're pretending the beach isn't approximately the temperature of the surface of Mercury.

PUMPKIN. SPICE. IS. HERE.

Meanwhile, much of the country is dealing with heat advisories, and here in the Low Country I'm trying to determine whether I actually need to shower or whether standing outside for five minutes already counts.

I don't want a pumpkin patch.

I don't want a sweater.

I don't want to hear about crisp autumn air.

I WANT THE AIR CONDITIONER TO KEEP WORKING.

At this rate, the seasonal calendar is going to collapse completely. Pumpkin spice will arrive in June, Halloween candy will hit the shelves around Easter, and we'll be buying Christmas trees while we're still setting off Fourth of July fireworks.

Krispy Kreme, the Café Mocha looks good.

The Maple Cheesecake looks really good.

The Cookie Butter might actually get me through the door.

But Pumpkin Spice Cake?

It's 95 degrees outside.

Let the pumpkin sleep.

Its time will come.

Another One Caught: Parking Like the Rules Don't Apply

I caught another one.


Today I was on my way to the local Harris Teeter to pick up additional lottery tickets for the pool I'm in (more about that over at NielFlamm.com/blog). Harris Teeter is only about a mile from my house, and to get there, I pass Rivertowne Public House—which, by the way, has a great Caesar salad and chicken nachos if you've never been.


As I approached Harris Teeter, just past the Pub House, I noticed a white BMW X3 with a South Carolina license plate WUP 290. The driver was inching his way into a parking space so slowly that he backed up traffic in both directions. It wasn't a particularly difficult parking job—it just seemed like everyone else had to wait while he perfected it.


I didn't have time to snap a photo on the way in because I was headed to buy those lottery tickets. But I secretly hoped the BMW would still be there when I came back out on my way to get a car wash.


It was.


One thing that crossed my mind: this happened before anyone at the nearby pub would reasonably have had a chance to enjoy a few adult beverages and make questionable decisions afterward. From what I observed, this appeared to be a sober driver making a deliberate choice to take as much time as needed, regardless of the line of cars waiting behind him.


That's one of the reasons I'm glad I have this blog. It gives me a place to document the little moments that make you shake your head.


One quick note before anyone points it out: yes, you'll notice a golf cart parked in a handicap space. It appears to be a legitimate designated spot, and I don’t have information on whether the owner has a disability. I'm not making any assumptions about that.


What I am commenting on is the behavior I personally witnessed. Taking your time is one thing. Holding up traffic in both directions because you're determined to execute the perfect parking maneuver is another. A little consideration for the people around you goes a long way.


As a BMW owner myself, I hate seeing behavior that reinforces the stereotype that BMW drivers are selfish or entitled. Most of us aren't. Unfortunately, it only takes a few memorable moments like this to give everyone else a bad reputation.


Let's all remember that parking lots work best when everyone shares them with a little patience, courtesy, and awareness.


Have you ever witnessed a parking lot moment that made you wonder what someone was thinking? Leave a comment and let me know.

🥵 Summer Called… It Wants Its Temperature Back

I was out running errands around 3:00 PM EDT today, and my car’s thermometer looked like it had simply given up.


Then there was the humidity—easily 80% or more. You know the kind. You step outside, and your shirt immediately files for divorce from being dry.


The official temperature may have been one thing, but it felt like 200°F. I half expected to see eggs frying on the hood and my prosthetic asking for air conditioning.


If you saw someone sprinting from the parking lot to the nearest building, there was a good chance it was me. Stay cool, stay hydrated, and if you’re in the South, remember: you’re not sweating… you’re just slowly becoming part of the atmosphere.