In 1980, many years before online dating was available, I walked into a Great Expectations office, a video dating service in Westwood Village, to accompany my fifty-five-year-old cousin while she took the plunge into dating after a thirty-year marriage. As we entered, Jeffrey Ullman, the founder of the company, was there to greet us. He was respectful but adamant when he told my cousin that there would be few prospects for her, and her chances of finding a match would be slim to none. He knew from experience that she didn’t have it, whatever “it” was.
“But on the other hand,” he said, looking at me, “you are perfect for our services.” He ushered us into the library, a room that held hundreds of three-ring binders filled with member profiles. It didn’t take us long to realize why the several men and women sitting in front of these books had spread them out with the back cover facing upward. This was to view the photos first before reading the profile. Of course. Who in their right mind would want to read a bio before checking out a face and body in advance?
I wanted to run. After all, I was there for Barbara, not myself. I didn’t know anyone who had ever sought this type of service. I didn’t know anyone who even entered a chatroom or solicited the help of a matchmaker. But this man was convincing when he told me how sure he was that there would be someone special for me to meet…
