Photo by Rachel Kurzius.

When I enter the Georgetown Library, I feel embarrassed asking the librarian if she knows where the Friend Speed Dating event is taking place. Part of me wants to clarify that I’m there as a journalist and have plenty of friends, thank you very much. But I don’t, and she directs me to the basement with a smile.

Ten or so people are already there. Georgetown librarians Rebekah Smith and Julia Strusienski, the organizers of the event, tell one man who didn’t sign up in advance to circle back before everything kicks off. Ahead of time, the event has reached its 50-person capacity. I put on a name tag and take a deep breath.

During speed dating, traditionally used to find a romantic partner, people have rapid fire conversations with tons of different folks. The idea is that you don’t have to suffer through drinks or dinner with someone when you don’t feel the spark, and you can meet lots of people in one fell swoop. But swiping on Tinder and other dating apps has made speed dating less necessary, if not entirely anachronistic.

Friendship, on the other hand, is tougher to come by, even though it seems like we’re finally beginning to give amity the respect it deserves. TV shows like Broad City and Playing House make the case for the importance and depth of platonic relationships. Significant others and jobs come and go, but you’ve got your ride-or-die pals forever.

Unless, of course, you don’t. And that’s where Friend Speed Dating comes in.

Smith found a Canadian library that had successfully hosted friend speed dating through a Facebook group, and she Strusienski decided to give it a go as they try to plan programming for younger residents. The D.C. Public Library system is making a concerted effort to expand its offerings beyond books, including its Memory Lab and Makers-In-Residence programs.

The target age group—around college-aged to 40 year olds—has a number of names: emerging adults, 20’s/30’s, younger adults. “There’s not a good idea of what to call them,” says Smith.

“Young people come to the library to get items but they don’t stay,” says Strusienski. She says she would get emails about their younger adult book club, and “the subtext was ‘I want friends.’ Friends often times are the only constant at this age.”

There are two long tables set up, with breath mints and conversation starters printed on small pieces of paper—questions like “What brought you to Friend Speed Dating?” and “What book do you pretend to read that you never finished?” There are snacks, too: popcorn, pretzels, and Oreos.

Choosing where to sit feels a little like finding a spot to eat lunch on the first day of school.
I somehow end up in a conversation about a topic that seems near and dear to the heart of one of the participants: geocaching. As often happens at events with strangers, I find myself asking question after question. I can’t tell if I’m interested or just want to keep the conversation going. (As it turns out, geocaching is an activity where people use GPS locations to find items. Thanks to my new friend Asher I could tell you a lot more about it, if you want.)

Smith and Strusienski get the event started around 7:15 p.m. Of the 50 people who had signed up, about 20 actually show. (The man initially turned away had his pick of seats.) They welcome us to friend speed dating, emphasis on the friend. The rules are simple. You have two minutes to gab with the person across from you, and then you move down the line to the next potential pal.

First I meet Monica, who is 30. She’s lived in D.C. for seven years and has been dating her boyfriend for three. “That’s a long time,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “All I do is hang out with him, so I’m expanding my horizons.” She describes something familiar to many of us as we age. All of her friends have coupled off and are starting families. She’s about to tell me more, but it’s time to switch.

Patricia, 35, recently got married. “I’m very social, but there’s a lot of protocol to meet people,” she says. “It’s difficult to make girl friends. At a bar, it’s hard to approach a woman, because she thinks you’re hitting on her.”

As I meet more people a pattern emerges. The women there generally want to meet other women, whereas most of the men have a “why not?” attitude. (And Sillicon Valley is taking note—new female friend-finding apps are emerging.)

Because there’s an odd number, I talk to Jonathan, 28, and Simon, 39, together. It turns out they already know each other. Simon used to be Jonathan’s Sunday school teacher, and they recently reunited on Facebook. The site also brought them both here. Jonathan’s friend sent him the event as a joke, and Simon saw it on his wall.

“What the hell. Try everything, right?” Simon says.

Next I see Asher again. He loves that this event is free. He says that normally, you’ve got to pay to participate in speed dating. He doesn’t have any expectations for the evening because “the best experiences happen by chance.”

When I talk to Rita, she explains that “I’ve done the whole online dating thing and haven’t had much luck. I just want companionship.”

To me, the search for new friends feels more daunting than a date. If a potential romantic partner fizzles out, it could have to do with any number of things outside my control. The whole “it’s not you, it’s me.” But a friend is there because of you—the real you. So if they don’t want to be your friend, it’s you.

Rita agrees. “Friendships are much more intimate. Dating is superficial.”

It reminds me of an interview I saw with a Chicago Cubs fan many years ago. A journalist asks him why he remains so loyal to the team. “I’ve had three wives,” he says. “But I’ve always been a Cubs fan.” I’m not big into sports, but that’s how I feel about my friends. Sure, it can get complicated. They can let you down or you can grow apart. But I’ve always been a friends fan.

And letting yourself be vulnerable isn’t easy. When the other half of one of my favorite conversations from the evening leaves, she says goodbye but doesn’t ask for my number. She knows I’m here to cover the event, I say to myself. She probably thinks I’ve got enough friends, I nearly convince myself.

I ask Jonathan how he thought it went. “No life-long friends, but nobody pissed me off or anything,” he shrugs.

Smith, the librarian, says that they’ll probably repeat the event, though they may play around with the structure. “What we’re really hoping is to follow up [with participants] and help us plan our programming.”

I discuss a tentative brunch date and get an invite to go geocaching.