How I met my match

A Match Made in Algorithm

Photo by Jace & Afsoon on Unsplash

I pushed open the door of Betty Blue, my favorite Amsterdam coffee shop cum Internet cafe, escaping the biting cold. The rich aroma of strong weed enveloped me as I wiped my wet boots.

"Raspberry tea, please," I said, my eyes scanning the weed menu.

Clutching the warm mug, I settled at a window table, peeling off layers of winter wear. Outside, cyclists pedaled through the gray afternoon, while inside, the clinking of cups and soft chatter created a cozy cocoon.

As I sipped my tea, my mind wandered to my recent Match.com experiences. I recalled my last date - a woman who had dated half the Gaelic football team in Seattle. Before that, there was the gal whose idea of roughing it was a four-star hotel.

Later I sighed, heading upstairs to use the cafe computers to deactivate my account.

Just then, a notification pinged. A new message. My cursor hovered over the 'delete account' button as I debated whether to open it.

My friend Paul's advice echoed in my mind: "Listen, Michael. Dating is a numbers game. The more women you meet..." That made sense.

His words resonated as I opened the new message. It was from a woman named Liz. As I read her profile, a smile crept across my face.

I guess you could say I took the road less travelled by. I have two jobs I work as a tour guide in the summer time, and a paralegal in the winter, I take time off in between to have adventures. My next adventure is I am going to ride my bicycle around New Zealand.

Maybe one more try wouldn't hurt.

Days later, I found myself pushing open the heavy wooden door of Connor Byrne's in Seattle. I wore the trendy long-sleeved red velvet top my sister had given me for Christmas. The smoky air hit me as I scanned the bar, my heart pounding. And then I saw her.

Perched on a barstool was a vision. Cascades of blonde hair framed a face that lit up the dim pub. Her feet, clad in sensible shoes, dangled above the floor. As I approached, her blue eyes met mine, and suddenly the noisy bar faded away. I wanted to dive into those blue eyes.

"Hi, you must be Liz. I'm Michael," I managed, extending a slightly trembling hand.

Her smile widened as she shook it. "Nice to finally meet you! How was your flight?"

I ordered a coke, figuring I would go slow on the drinking. Liz gave me a quizzical look and ordered a beer.

We chatted easily, the conversation flowing about Skibbereen and places in Ireland Liz had visited on her previous bike tour of Ireland. She smiled often, and when she laughed, she lit up the room. Her distinct laugh was infectious, and better yet, she seemed to think I was funny.

Then, mid-laugh, she paused, her head tilting slightly. "You're not 5'7", are you?"

I felt heat rush to my face, my collar suddenly too tight. "I, uh..." I stammered, tugging at my new red velvet shirt. "No"

Liz leaned in, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "So..."

Taking a deep breath, I launched into my nerdy explanation of how I had tested the Match algorithm. "I created male and female profiles to see how Match worked," I explained, watching her reaction carefully.

‘I’m a developer so I was curious how they did the matching.I noticed some women would not be matched with me. I played with all the characteristics and I watched how the algorithm did the matching.’

Liz's eyebrows rose.

‘Match.com sent out emails saying people who had their picture up got 40% more replies so if I responded to profiles without pictures my chances would be better as I’d have less competition’

"I discovered if a woman wanted to meet a guy who drank occasionally but the guy drank regularly, it would take a percentage off. Smoking was weighted more than drinking."

She nodded, seeming to agree.

"I discovered that height was absolute. If a woman wanted someone 5'8", if I was 5’ 7” I wouldn't show up at all, even if everything else matched perfectly."

Her beautiful blue eyes widened in surprise. She wasn't bored yet.

"This didn't apply the other way around. If a man wanted to meet a woman who was 5'6", they would see people shorter than that, but the match percentage would be adjusted instead, and not by much."

Liz nodded, a smile playing at her lips. "So you decided to game the system?"

"Exactly!" I said, relieved by her amused expression. "On a good day with the right shoes, I’m 5’ 6”. But if I said I was 5’ 7” then it would widen the pool of women I would be matched with. And well, I was getting matched with women who were 5'2"; I didn't think you'd notice." I smiled sheepishly.

Liz threw her head back in laughter, the sound like music above the din in the pub. "That's the nerdiest, most adorable thing I've ever heard," she said, her eyes twinkling.

As we continued talking, the bar around us emptied, but we hardly noticed. It wasn't until the bartender called last call that we realized how much time had passed.

I was living on a boat down the road and invited Liz for a walk to the marina under the moonlight. The walk flew by as we chatted, and it felt like the best thing that had ever happened to me. Liz was excited about the boat. Little did she know she would sail it to Mexico with me someday.

As we stood on the dock, gazing at the moonlit water, I couldn't help but feel that this was just the beginning of something extraordinary. The night air was crisp, but in the warmth of Liz's arms everything seemed perfect.

We are married twenty years this year and I still feel like I hit the jackpot.