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Blind Date

Every issue, we bribe singletons with free food and bevvies to go on a blind date, organised by us. The only catch – they have to write about it after.

Ms Peters

Not many people can say they spent their Friday night awkwardly standing outside Burger Burger in the rain staring at random guys' feet. I can. I signed up to go on a date with a total stranger because it seemed like the appropriate thing to do at the time, while I was simultaneously watching Married at First Sight, eating ice cream and swiping through two dating apps.

All I knew about my date was his first name and that he would be wearing boots. Hence the feet staring. These ‘boots’ turned out to be Doc Martens but said date caught on to my awkward staring in his direction. The guy wearing Nikes two minutes prior to his arrival did not quite return the favour.

Thankfully, my worst fears regarding the date were not realised. We immediately got talking and discovered we both went to Laneway Festival a few weeks ago, which meant I was free to rant about live music and my favourite artists to another victim. The most challenging thing I found about the experience is that it’s hard trying to get to know someone from scratch in a short space of time. At least with the app method there are initial conversations to get know bits and pieces about someone. My impressions of my date were that he was a genuine, sweet guy and that he had pretty good taste in music. Nice one Debate.

Being the perfect gentleman that my date was, he offered to drive me home, as well as letting me play my music in his car. I was thinking it was all too good to be true, just as our discussion about last year’s election grinded to a screeching halt. He admitted, to my horror, that he voted for NZ First.

Well, I suppose perfection doesn’t really exist.


A slight female figure with streaky blonde hair stared at her phone outside the restaurant. After confirming she was there to meet me, we shared a few words and found a place to sit and talk while we thought about what to eat. I turned on the charm and found it easy to chat with her – a smart comms student with a similar taste in music as me.

Soon I felt the anxiety waning as we shared various anecdotes and opinions about a festival we had both recently attended, and then it returned when I realised I had wolfed down all my food in the time it had taken her to have three bites.

After chatting for a while longer, I asked her about the worst date she had ever been on, which turned into a large confidence booster after I found out a Tinder date had tried to make a move on her in the middle of the University of Auckland campus, and another Tinder gentleman had searched for every single person on Facebook with her first name to send her a monologue about how in love with her he was. At least I hadn’t done anything in that vein.

We wrapped up dinner and I asked if she wanted to walk with me in Newmarket; she said sure, but the rain and lack of anything to do ended it promptly.

Conversation began to feel forced but I offered her a ride home, which she accepted. After dropping her home and grabbing her digits for a potential second meeting, I made a quick escape to my own bed and reflected. Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought up the fact that I love Winston Peters, that will surely feature in whatever she writes about me… I give the date a six out of ten.

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