The Hinge Experiment: Pop Quiz, Hotshot. What Do You Do?

Well, yesterday I decided to put it out there.

My phone number.

Okay, technically not my real phone number.

It's a Google Voice number, which I highly recommend for anyone navigating the wonderful, confusing, occasionally terrifying world of online dating. I'm not immediately handing over my primary number to someone I just met on an app.

I'm optimistic.

I'm not insane.

But after several rounds of “Good morning,” unanswered questions, and my increasingly desperate attempts to determine whether we're actually going to have a conversation, I finally sent Kelli:

“Hey! If you want to chat/text...”

And then I gave her the number.

The ball—or perhaps the bomb—is officially in her court.

Pop Quiz, Hotshot

This whole thing is beginning to remind me of one of my favorite lines from Speed:

“Pop quiz, hotshot.”

There's a bomb on a bus. The bus goes over 50 miles per hour; the bomb is armed. It drops below 50, it explodes.

What do you do?

Except this isn't Keanu Reeves trying to save a bus.

This is online dating.

So...

Pop quiz, Kelli.

A guy you've matched with has tried starting conversations.

He's asked questions.

He's suggested going on an actual date.

He's attempted humor.

He's even offered Morse Code as an acceptable means of communication.

Now he's given you a phone number.

What do you do?

Actually, let's change movie genres.

Bottom of the Ninth

Kelli, it's the bottom of the ninth.

Three men on.

Full count.

For my non-baseball readers, that means three balls and two strikes.

The next pitch matters.

There's a stare-down happening between you and the pitcher.

The crowd is silent.

The pitcher gets the sign.

He comes set.

You're standing in the batter's box.

Here comes the pitch...

What are you going to do?

Swing?

Take the pitch?

Step out of the box?

Call time?

Go home?

Download WhatsApp and ask me if I've ever considered cryptocurrency?

At this point, all possibilities remain on the table.

I've done what I can do.

I put the number out there.

If she wants to text or call, she can.

If she doesn't?

Well...

Steve the Iguana remains on standby.

BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE!

Just when you thought The Hinge Experiment was becoming a one-woman scientific study...

I MATCHED WITH GINA!

Yes!

MATCH NUMBER TWO!

We have officially doubled the number of matches.

That's 100% growth!

If this were a quarterly earnings call, I'd have a PowerPoint deck prepared, and we'd be discussing our extraordinary year-over-year performance.

So now we have two separate storylines.

Kelli: The number has been provided. The pitch has been thrown. We're waiting to see whether she swings.

Gina: A brand-new match. A completely blank canvas. Unlimited possibilities.

Could Gina be the one who actually communicates?

Could there be a conversation?

Could there be a date?

Could I finally retire my plans to become the weird reptile guy walking the beaches of South Carolina?

I have absolutely no idea.

But suddenly, The Hinge Experiment has a sequel.

Let's see what happens.

And Gina...

No pressure.

But there is currently an imaginary iguana whose future depends on you.

The Hinge Experiment: Yep, This Is Going Exactly as Expected

Well, here we are.

A few days into The Hinge Experiment, and I have an exciting update:

This is going exactly as expected.

If you've been following along, you know I recently ended my Tinder experiment and moved over to Hinge. Tinder wasn't exactly producing my happily-ever-after, so perhaps Hinge—the dating app allegedly “designed to be deleted”—would be different.

And right out of the gate, things looked promising.

I got a match relatively quickly.

Kelli!

Holy crap.

Maybe this was going to work.

Maybe I'd cracked the online-dating code.

Maybe I'd be writing one of those obnoxiously adorable stories six months from now:

"We met on Hinge, and I just knew..."

Calm down, Niel.

Because since then?

No other matches.

And as for Match Number One...

Well.

Apparently, “Communication” Has Multiple Definitions

I spend an unhealthy amount of time watching Facebook Reels and other short-form internet garbage, and there's a recurring theme when women talk about what they want in a man:

Communication.

They want a man who communicates.

Excellent!

Because you know what?

I kinda want that too.

I'm not looking for someone to send me a 14-page dissertation every morning.

I'm not expecting hourly relationship status reports.

I'm certainly not demanding a notarized itinerary.

But I do ask questions.

Actual questions.

Questions with those little squiggly things at the end that traditionally indicate:

“Hey, I'd like you to answer this.”

For example:

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

Nothing.

Okay.

I tried again and suggested an actual date.

Eventually:

“Hey.”

We're cooking now!

Next, I asked:

“What's your preferred method to communicate? Text, Phone, Morse Code?”

I thought the Morse Code thing was funny.

Apparently, I may need to actually purchase a telegraph.

Eventually, I got:

“lol I
Sorry sweetheart”

No need to apologize!

I told her I'd love to take her out.

I tried sharing a little about myself.

Then she sent:

“Good morning.”

Progress!

So naturally, I responded:

“Good morning! What r u up to today?”

Nothing.

The next morning?

“Good morning.”

Okay.

We've apparently entered a relationship with a hotel front desk.

Good morning!

Good morning!

GOOD MORNING!

So I tried again:

“Good morning! What do you have going on this weekend? Hopefully something awesome.”

And now...

We wait.

Again.

Am I Doing This Wrong?

This is where I need someone to explain modern dating to me.

How do people actually meet?

Seriously.

I'm not asking rhetorically anymore.

Do you bump carts at Costco while both reaching for the same 48-pack of toilet paper?

Do you lock eyes across the produce department while inspecting avocados?

Do you meet at church?

A bar?

The gym?

Facebook?

Hinge?

Tinder?

The DMV?

Do I need to fake an injury at Target and hope someone attractive comes to my aid?

Actually, with my luck, she'd help me up and then ask if I've ever considered investing in cryptocurrency.

I'm beginning to think I'm not any closer to finding my forever-after than I was when I started The Hinge.

Or Tinder.

Or before Tinder.

Maybe It's Time for Plan B

I think I have finally developed a backup plan.

I'm getting a lizard.

Maybe an iguana.

Some sort of reptile.

Something substantial.

Then I'm going to become that dude who walks around the beach with a giant lizard.

You know EXACTLY who I'm talking about.

Every beach town has one.

Nobody knows his name.

Nobody knows where he came from.

Nobody knows why there's a four-foot reptile sitting on his shoulder.

But EVERYBODY talks to him.

“OMG! Is that your iguana?”

Yes. Yes, it is.

“Can I pet him?”

Of course. His name is Steve.

Boom.

Conversation.

No algorithm.

No swiping.

No unanswered questions.

No waiting three days to receive “Good morning.”

Just me, Steve the Iguana, and the Atlantic Ocean.

And here's the best part:

Steve communicates.

He might communicate exclusively by blinking and occasionally eating lettuce, but at this point, that's competitive.

So that's where The Hinge Experiment currently stands.

One match.

No additional matches.

Several questions.

Very few answers.

Zero dates.

And an increasingly realistic possibility that my next meaningful relationship will be with a reptile.

Still...

The experiment continues.

Maybe Kelli will respond.

Maybe another match will appear.

Maybe someone will eventually communicate.

Maybe I'll actually go on a date.

Or maybe you'll see me walking down the beach six months from now with a giant iguana on my shoulder.

If you do...

Come say hello.

At least one of us will probably answer.