Fine, I’ll admit it. I signed up for eHarmony, but not because I can’t pick up chicks, just for the sole purpose of finding the truth. Come on, I’m a journalist, although I’m not quite sure what this has to do with sports. The idea was pitched and I thought, “Hey, it can’t hurt. Right?”
Wrong. After seeing the warm, fuzzy commercials with good-looking people telling their true stories of how they met and fell in “everlasting love” through eHarmony, I expected nothing less than being matched with my life partner. However, things didn’t go exactly as planned.
The first part of the process is to fill out the longest questionnaire in the history of the world. The often repetitive questions were set up in different parts. The first part of my two-hour journey was the “Self Description” section.
Each page of questions in this section had 15 words listed with a scale of one to seven next to each. The objective was to rate how well I felt each of the words described me, with seven being very well and one being not at all.
It didn’t take long for me to realize eHarmony was definitely intended for an older (or more intelligent) demographic, because I spent much of the first step just looking up words like “aloof” and “introverted.” This part was tough, but I think they put it in the beginning so they knew I would be fresh and motivated enough to keep going. The problem was, the survey at times seemed redundant and dragged on. To make matters worse, there was a graphic in the top right corner showing me what percent of the survey I had finished. The first 75 questions only accounted for 17 percent of the survey. Luckily, the folks at eHarmony are smarter than me. The fact that they put the tough stuff in the beginning was very clever on their part because I probably wouldn’t have finished had they put it later.
The next step was called “Personal Characteristics” and was set up the same way as the first section. The difference between section one and two was, instead of single words, I had to rate how truthful I thought the sentences listed were. Phrases like “I enjoy a good joke” and “I have a high desire for sexual activity” were clear and closer to seven than one on my scale. Then they threw in more things to confuse me like, “My mind does much better with facts than with concepts.” What the hell does that mean? I just checked four and kept on trucking.
The third step was called “About Your Feelings.” Yes, I did start to question my motivations after reading that, but at that point I had already wasted close to an hour filling the survey out and, by golly, I was going to finish it.
This step was just like the first step, but the number scale had different words on top. These lists were made up of mostly single-word emotions like “happy” and “sad” with an occasional “fearful about the future,” and “plotted against.” The scale was set up to see how often I feel each emotion, with seven being almost always and one being rarely. Maybe I’m naive, but I don’t usually feel “plotted against.”
The next step was “Important Qualities” and was the same as step one, only referring to how I feel about my significant others’ characteristics. Blah.
By the time I’d gotten to step five, “Personal Beliefs,” I was really hating myself for deciding to do this, but the thought of meeting the future mother of my 10-or-more children kept me going. I used to be a swimmer (think: Speedo) so I never give up.
The problem I had with this step was, out of all the religions, they didn’t have Quaker as an option. What’s up with that? I’m pretty sure Quakers are the coolest people in the world, and that’s not just because I happen to be one. Nonviolence? Equality? How am I supposed to pick up chicks if they don’t know those beliefs I possess?
I have nothing against Sikh or Shinto, but shouldn’t Quakerism get a cameo on this page somewhere? Maybe instead of Wiccan?
At this point I was tired, but unfortunately when I reached step six, “About Your Personality,” I was only 46 percent finished. Not even half done.
At least in this section they mixed things up a bit with some true/false questions. The statements went from the broad, “I enjoy many different types of recreational activities,” to randomly specific statements like, “If a store clerk gave me extra change, I might keep it without telling them.” At this point I understand their motives, these people obviously have some sort of formula. My favorite true/false was, “I sometimes drive faster than the posted speed limit.” What kind of question is that? And what kind of people do they think are taking this questionnaire? I’m pretty sure speeding is illegal and, not to mention, very unsafe.
Although at this point, I was only half-way done with the hellishly long questionnaire and the rest of the steps were along the same lines as the first six. Most of the remaining questions just restated the same questions in the previous parts, so there’s no need to drag this any further.
Surprisingly, the worst is yet to come. After tediously filling out over 200 questions, I was finally prepared to see all the potential mates that would be matched with me. First, I would have to shell out the $49.95 it costs for a one-month membership (of course The News funded this venture).
After “paying” I was ready to meet my matches, I clicked the button and prepared for my destiny to unfold. Before I reveal what happened next, I should let you know I wasn’t doing this by myself; there were at least a half-dozen other members of The News staff standing around my computer just as anxious as I was to find the woman of my dreams.
There was no one on the entire eHarmony server that was “compatible” with me. Boy, my self esteem sure didn’t need that kick in the groin. And the laughter from my viewing colleagues didn’t exactly ease the pain.
How could this be? I’m a nice guy. I even lied and said I didn’t care if my partner smokes. This was just a bad idea all around. So I did what anyone in my situation would do … I went to Our House.
The next morning I dragged myself, legally-obtained hangover included, back to the newsroom for a long day of work. To my surprise, when I checked my e-mail I found that I had received three matches. However, my joy was quickly vanquished when I saw that none of the three matches I received overnight had a picture posted with them. I know that “compatibility” isn’t supposed to be based on looks, but let’s be serious: I’m 21 years old; I’m not trying to get married; I’m in college. Even though looks aren’t everything, they are still an important piece to the relationship puzzle.
And that’s when I realized the moral to this story: eHarmony is for people who are sick of the bar scene. I’m sure this program is great for older folks, but anyone that’s my age and needs to use eHarmony should save themselves some loot and sign up for The Facebook.
