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.

A Correction—and an Apology to Sarah Leary

I've spent more than 70 days publicly questioning Nextdoor, its leadership, and what I see as failures in communication and accountability.

So accountability has to work both ways.

Sarah Leary, I owe you an apology.

On August 14, 2026, I publicly questioned what happened to an X post on Sarah's account after I could no longer find it.

I noticed it was missing the day before.

It was the Beacon Street snow post where I had left numerous comments documenting my ongoing experience with Nextdoor—the company Sarah co-founded with Nirav Tolia.

At the time, I couldn't find the post.

I questioned whether Sarah had deleted it and whether my numerous Nextdoor comments had anything to do with its disappearance.

Well...

As of August 24, 2026, the post is there.

I can see it.

And yes, I've commented on it again on Nextdoor.

So what happened?

I don't know.

Maybe it was an X glitch.

Maybe its visibility temporarily changed.

Maybe it disappeared and returned.

Or maybe I didn't see it when I searched for it.

And that's the important part:

I don't know.

I’ve raised concerns about Nextdoor's communication, transparency, and accountability.

I can't demand those standards from a company and then exempt myself when I may have made a mistake.

My observation at the time was straightforward:

I couldn't find the post.

But suggesting Sarah personally removed it went beyond what I could actually establish.

There's a difference between:

“The post appears to be gone.”

and

“Sarah deleted the post.”

I should have maintained that distinction.

So, Sarah:

I apologize for stating or implying that you deleted the post when I didn't have evidence to support that.

That's on me.

This correction doesn't change my broader questions about Nextdoor. I'm still waiting for the detailed research I've requested. I still have questions about communication, moderation, verification, monetization, and leadership.

And I'll continue documenting those issues.

But this particular issue deserves a correction without a bunch of qualifications attached to the apology:

The Beacon Street post is there.

I don't know why I couldn't see it before.

I shouldn't have attributed its disappearance to Sarah without knowing what happened.

Accountability doesn't mean much if it only travels in the convenient direction.

If I expect Nextdoor and its executives to acknowledge mistakes, I have to be willing to do the same.

So, Sarah, sincerely:

My apologies.

And yes...I've already returned to the Beacon Street post to continue commenting about that company you and Nirav co-founded.

I said I was apologizing.

I didn't say I was retiring. 😏

Follow the continuing Nextdoor story at NielFlamm.com/blog.

Day 71: Emergency Managers, Advertisers…and the Nextdoor Total Gym?

It's Day 71 of still not receiving the detailed Nextdoor Insights research I've requested.

But today's Nextdoor blog gave me something completely different to study.

I clicked on a new post titled:

“This August, Recognize the Emergency Managers Keeping Neighborhoods Safe.”

Full article:

https://blog.nextdoor.com/this-august-recognize-the-emergency-managers-keeping-neighborhoods-safe

Sounds worthwhile.

August is National Emergency Management Awareness Month, and Nextdoor discusses the people coordinating responses when communities face emergencies.

One observation before we continue:

Today is August 24.

Thanks for letting us know before September.

But then I kept reading.

After only a few paragraphs about emergency managers, this appeared:

“It's also a good time to share an update on the other side of the platform.”

And suddenly we're talking about advertisers.

Nextdoor Ads Manager.

Billing.

Credit limits.

Payment options.

Creative management.

Reporting tools.

Campaigns.

I had to look at the title again.

Wasn't I reading about emergency managers keeping neighborhoods safe?

Talk about a pivot.

From Emergency Preparedness to Paid Programming

I understand Nextdoor is a business.

Nextdoor needs to make money.

I'm a shareholder. I want it to make money.

That's also why Day 71 without receiving the detailed research Nextdoor's own Insights posts say readers can request continues to matter to me.

And it's why I pay attention to how the company communicates with the people who create, consume, and pay for its platform.

NXDR is down another $0.02 today, and shareholders aren't currently seeing a dividend.

Meanwhile, I've already been questioning Nextdoor's increasingly aggressive monetization strategy with small businesses.

Businesses can encounter what I consider a pay-to-play dynamic when trying to comment as businesses on posts from neighbors looking for services.

Now I click an article ostensibly celebrating emergency managers and somehow find myself reading about advertiser billing and campaign-management improvements.

It reminded me of late-night television.

You think you're watching regular programming...

Then suddenly:

CHUCK NORRIS IS HERE TO TELL YOU ABOUT THE TOTAL GYM!

All that's missing is:

“But wait! There's more!”

How Much Monetization Is Too Much?

Maybe each decision makes sense individually.

But taken together, I see a bigger question:

At what point does monetization begin interfering with the experience you're trying to monetize?

Small businesses create value on Nextdoor.

Public agencies create value.

Neighbors create value.

Emergency managers create value.

Advertisers pay Nextdoor to access that ecosystem.

The balance matters.

If you're going to recognize emergency managers, recognize them.

Give them the article.

Tell their stories.

Explain what they do.

Highlight someone doing exceptional work.

Tell neighbors how to contact their local emergency management agencies.

There's your story.

Instead, I clicked expecting emergency preparedness and somehow ended up learning about advertiser credit limits.

That's quite the journey.

And from a communications perspective, it fits remarkably well with what I've been documenting over the past 71 days.

Whether it's responding to a research request with links to summaries, communicating a new pay-to-comment business model, or transitioning an emergency-management article into an advertiser update, I keep coming back to the same question:

Is Nextdoor communicating what its audience needs to hear—or what Nextdoor wants to sell?

I remain a shareholder who wants NXDR to succeed.

But generating revenue and creating long-term shareholder value aren't necessarily the same thing.

Sometimes the better communications strategy is remarkably simple:

Write the article the headline promised.

Otherwise, what started as a meaningful piece about keeping neighborhoods safe begins feeling like a late-night Total Gym infomercial.

Chuck Norris would probably approve.

I don’t think emergency managers would.

Day 71. I still don't have detailed research, but I now know more about Nextdoor Ads Manager.

Follow my continuing Nextdoor study and full thoughts at NielFlamm.com/blog.

Does Niel have to slap a bitch?

American Airlines #4567, LGA to CHS.

I’min seat 3A.

The dude behind me, yes 4A has pulled on my seat back… TWICE!!! TWICE to get up!

Not an excuse me, pardon me, my apologies.

The world I live in has lost all courtesy.

Springhill Suites - Long Island City Review. Great Staff and Spacious Room, With a Few Accessibility and Noise Issues

I was in town for just one day to attend an “old guys” fraternity gathering in a backyard in Astoria/Long Island City. My flight arrived at LaGuardia shortly before 9:00 a.m., and I reached the SpringHill Suites around 9:30. I politely asked whether an early check-in might be possible because I was hoping to take a nap before the party—I’m old! They accommodated me immediately. SCORE!

Since Saturday breakfast ran until 10:30, I grabbed a plate of bacon and found a seat. At 9:30, the first-floor breakfast area was packed, with guests cutting in front of one another as if it were the apocalypse and the world had run out of toilet paper again. Through it all, the breakfast staff worked incredibly hard to keep the area clean, replenish food, and answer questions.

My room on the 12th floor was spacious by New York City standards. As an above-the-knee amputee, I had requested an accessible room with a roll-in shower. Like many Marriott-family hotels I’ve visited, the room seemed to meet the basic ADA requirements: grab bars, a handheld showerhead, and anchored bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.

However, the shower did not have a built-in bench, which I usually find in roll-in showers. The staff quickly provided a shower chair, so that was an easy fix. A few practical improvements would make the room much more usable for actual ADA guests. The shower tray should be closer to the mounted toiletries so guests can also place their own soaps within reach. The towels were left on the sink, forcing me to scoot the shower chair over to retrieve them because I do not shower while wearing my prosthetic leg. Placing towels within reach of the shower would make a meaningful difference.

The hotel has three elevators, but they are small considering the number of guest rooms. A line frequently formed in the lobby. The elevators are fast—unless yours turns into the local train and stops on every floor.

The hotel is in a very industrial area, although new residential buildings are being constructed or converted nearby. There is a bodega at the end of one block and a DoubleTree at the other. There is also a street-cart guy nearby, and I got a combo over rice from him at an awesome price by any standard—especially for New York City.

Rideshare vehicles can reach the hotel, but street parking narrows the remaining roadway. Since I move slowly, the cars behind my rideshare had to wait while I got out.

The first-floor gym, which I did not use, is about the size of a large Manhattan studio apartment. There are also three universally accessible restrooms near the gym. The hotel market uses a self-checkout system: select an item, scan it, and pay by card—no cash. Security is stationed at the entrance, which has become fairly typical at New York City hotels.

Noise was the biggest drawback. I could have sworn I smelled cigarette smoke coming from another room on my floor. Doors slammed throughout the night and into the morning, and some younger guests near my room seemed to be having a party in the hallway. I understand that people want to ensure their doors are securely closed, but the constant slamming was disruptive. Having security periodically patrol the guest floors—using the type of scan system commonly used in hospitals and office buildings—could help address smoking, hallway gatherings, and excessive noise.

Despite those concerns, the staff was absolutely awesome. Their friendliness, hard work, and willingness to help made the overall experience a good one. The early check-in alone was greatly appreciated, and the staff truly made this hotel shine.