The Datamatch Heard Around The World

It’s the greatest mother-flipping time of year. I don’t think you understand just how much I live for the moment that sweet, sweet, incredibly niche 12-question Datamatch survey drops.

I can feel it in my brittle bones: This is the year I find my soulmate. This is the year I finally match with that perfect person who also selected that their Roman Empire was “Thinking about how all the turkeys in the yard are simulations implanted in our subconscious by the government to prevent us from finding out what they’re really doing behind Lamont Library (I heard it involves atomic weapons).”

I just know everyone wants to see my lovely name — Pisa Schitt — pop up as one of their high percentage love matches. I mean, who wouldn’t want someone that chose “Licking the bottom of the DS10380 Model K Water Dispenser” for the prompt “It’s Friday night. What are you doing?”

I’m an absolute catch. If I can’t find love this year, I don’t think anyone can. So, I fill out this survey, and after I’m done, I type up my bio: “Just a girl who’s sexually attracted to the dhall feta cheese.” That’s the kicker. That’ll get ‘em.

Now for the most important part. I select the “Don’t Match Me With” feature and input every single house except Mather. I want a look inside that cold, hard concrete jungle.

I’m flying through the “Outtakes” section with the speed and finesse of a jaguar — “The first thing I’d save in a house fire is…” the lighter I used to set it, duh. I almost feel bad for the other girls looking for love on this platform. After my matches see me, no one else stands a chance.

The worst part is the waiting. I’m on the edge of my seat for days and days. As I walk through the Yard, I wonder which one of these lucky souls will be mine. I watch the analog clock I drilled into the ceiling of my dorm (they can charge me for the damage later) as the time ticks down to that cute capitalist trap of a holiday.

Finally, there they are — there he is (sorry to all the girls that wanted a piece of this, but I am a heterosexual). I only got one match, but it’s a 110% match. I guess I would rather have quality over quantity. And his name, his beautiful name, is Steve Vulguy.

I press “Like” on him immediately, and the feeling is mutual. I quickly receive a message from him: “Do you want to form an alliance?”

Okay, Steve, I’m intrigued. “What would this alliance entail?” I reply.

“Oh, just Square domination,” he quips back.

“But I really like triangles. I’m not sure I would consider the square the dominant shape,” I say. I’m really not sure how we ended up on geometry.

“No, I mean the square of all squares. PORTER SQUARE,” he messages maniacally.

“*HARVARD SQUARE,” he corrects after a brief moment.

“And how do you propose we do that?” I ask.

“We collect all the coupons we can from this app and go on free dates until we run them all out of business.”

It’s the evilest idea I’ve ever heard. I’m in. “Why are we doing this?” I ask.

“Some students just want to watch the Square burn.” He says, following it up with a date request for tonight at Amorino. I accept and it feels like I’m floating for the rest of the day. I love him already. I’m picking out sponges at the CVS to cut into matching rings for our fingers — symbols of our mission to scrub the Square clean of all it’s got.

But finally meeting him is the best part. He’s dressed to the nines in horizontally green and yellow striped pants and a red suit jacket. I savor every bit of my vanilla gelato while we talk about going to a guest lecture on “How to Get Rich Quick” over at the Biz School. As we walk out of Amorino, I casually discard what’s left of my cone on the sidewalk (it’s biodegradable, right?) and we walk off into the sunset, crossing the intersection at anywhere but the crosswalk and plotting our next free treat stop.

— Associate Magazine Editor Jem K. Williams can be reached at jem.williams@thecrimson.com. Follow her on Twitter @jemkwilliams.