I went on a blind date in front of 200 strangers

Choosing your friends over a man is always the right thing to do (Picture: Ellen White)

Doomscrolling late one night, an advert popped up on my phone.

It was for a live dating show, where a single contestant would choose to date one of several suitors based solely on their answers to questions – sight unseen.

Like Cilla Black’s Blind Date but, thankfully, not televised.

I was 30, flirty, and seriously done with dating apps.

I’d only moved to London a month before. Doing something a bit crazy felt like a good way to initiate myself into my new life. So, I thought, ‘let’s do it for the plot’.

I bought a ticket for one, saving myself the embarrassment of having to flirt on stage in-front of freshly made friends. I vowed to spill the juicy gossip afterwards. 

Two weeks later, speed-walking along the Southbank straight from work, I arrived solo at the Big Belly Bar without a second to register the gravity of what I was about to do.

Hopeful contestants were given a pager and told that if it buzzed, they had been chosen to go on stage.

I took one, got myself a drink, and felt content that my chances of being picked to go up were low.

As always, 100 women had nipped to the toilet before the show started.

I was 30, flirty, and seriously done with dating apps (Picture: Ellen White)

While waiting, I felt my pocket buzz. I turned to my toilet-queue allies – I’d been picked! – we communicated in squeals as they cheered me out the door.

I legged it upstairs to the comedy club and briefly met Zoe, the other summoned female contestant, before we were blindfolded and led on stage.

I was acutely aware I had started to panic sweat under the hot stage lights, and I self-consciously shifted around on my seat.

Zoe and I anxiously chatted to each other in the dark, glad to share our nervous energy with someone else.

Slowly, but surely, the quiet filled with noise as the crowd took to their seats.

The host, Danny, whispered that our suitor had taken his place so we could remove our blindfolds.

A wave of adrenaline hit me as my eyes adjusted to take in the crowd.

Danny whipped up the audience. I put on a manic grin – it was show time.

Ellen with a friend (Picture: Ellen White)

After introducing ourselves, the mystery man was able to ask Zoe and I questions.

The first one he asked told me everything I needed to know about him.

‘What’s your best asset?’ he said.

A collective groan from the crowd rang out. I eye-rolled at Zoe. ‘Typical’, we whispered to each other in disappointment.

Zoe cheekily said she had a nice bum.

I exclaimed, ‘Snap – I won “rear of the year” in sixth form!’

We stood up and shook our peaches at the audience – dancing off any icky energy from the question.

My perception of the man I couldn’t see proceeded to go downhill from there.

I thought his questions and answers were unimaginative.

I knew I had to do – somehow kindly reject him (Picture: Ellen White)

He asked whether I danced at gigs or took endless photos of myself.

Mocking women for liking their appearance? Big ick. 

As I come from a marketing background, I challenged him to create a marketing slogan to describe himself. He answered, ‘always’.

I was baffled. Someone from the crowd shouted out, ‘like the period stuff?’

Mumbling, his waffled explanation didn’t make sense. 

My mind flashed back to previous dates who had been incapable of holding reciprocal or interesting conversation.

I was disappointed, not surprised, at how the evening was panning out.  

So was Zoe. She leant over and whispered that she’d choose me over this man, and I quietly agreed. We decided to become friends.

When it was revealed that I was chosen, I felt dread. I hadn’t expected to be on stage – never mind be picked and not want to be.  

With 200 people assessing my face for a reaction, I couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief and hang my head in my hands.

The screen was removed and mystery man and I locked eyes for the first time.

When asked where he’d take me on our first date, he said, ‘Er, downstairs in the bar I guess?’

His nonchalance affirmed what I knew I had to do – somehow kindly reject him.

Rather than Zoe stand alone, a gaggle of girls had stormed the stage in solidarity.

I took the mic and said, ‘I’d rather have a night with the girls – do you mind if I join you?’

I was swiftly swept up in a group hug, silently mouthing sorry to my no-longer date across from me, his slightly pained expression staring back at me. 

Descending on the dancefloor, ladies in formation, we sang and grooved as if no one was watching – the male gaze not a consideration. 

I left feeling confident in the universal truth: that choosing your friends over a man is always the right thing to do.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

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