My assignment? Write about single men and women trying to get dates.

The story involves ``pre-dating,'' also known as ``speed dating.'' This is the hot national dating alternative to the bar/ nightclub scene for singles. And now Pre-Dating Events, a speed-dating company based in Florida, planned its first Hampton Roads event.

It works this way: Pairs of singles sit at tables for two. They talk one-one-one for six minutes, a bell rings, they change partners and start over again. If you and your date click, you can hook up later.

Pre-dating is for time-starved single professionals, those looking for an efficient and fun way to find Mr. or Mrs. Right without stress and pressure. My task was to go through the process and write about it.

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Who cares? you might ask. Well, important questions demand answers. Is this form of drive-through dating indicative of a soulless, unimaginative, romantically bankrupt culture that could signal the end of Western civilization as we know it? Probably. But is it an ingenious way for me to meet up to a dozen single women in one night on the company's dime? Absolutely. Bring 'em on.

Having already pre-registered and paid $29, I walked into the pre-dating site at Worrell Market on West Great Neck Road in Virginia Beach prepared for a journalistic probe into virgin territory. I wore khakis and a simple white shirt -- but no studly cologne as suggested by a certain Pilot copy editor.

I signed in, got a clipboard with a ``match'' sheet and a nametag with my first name. Last names aren't used in pre-dating for security reasons, i.e., psycho stalkers. This engagement was for singles ages 26-39.

Organizers had cordoned off a section of the upscale restaurant with small, intimate tables bedecked with candles and flowers. Lights were dimmed -- no doubt to stir romance. Eleven men and 11 women readied themselves. Women checked makeup and men made sure their zippers weren't open.

Carolyn Parsons, Hampton Roads coordinator with Pre-Dating Events, gave us the ground rules, rang the bell and off we went!

My first pre-date was with Jennifer, a Norfolk resident who didn't want to give her last name. Jennifer likes to garden, shop, walk and stay in shape. But more importantly her favorite Pilot section is The Daily Break. Right on! I'm a features editor who works on that section. This was promising. But things took a turn for the worse as she discussed her reading habits.

``I first go to the People page and read Dear Abby,'' she revealed. Dear Abby? That column featuring inane questions from the shockingly helpless?

Jennifer, however, redeemed herself. ``But I avoid the Dear Abby-types. Where do those people come from?'' Humanity had been preserved.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Time was up. I marked my decision on the checklist: match or friend/ business connection or none.

The women stayed at their tables, while men shuffled to their next pre-date. For me, that was Lara, a pharmacist from Chesapeake. I asked Lara why she came to pre-dating.

``I work in a 95 percent female environment. It's difficult to meet men who aren't married. After you get out of college, it's not that easy to meet people.''

``How old are you?'' I sheepishly asked.

``How old do I look?''

``Um, 24.''

She smiled. ``You've earned Brownie points.'' Wohoo! She's actually 31.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Great, that annoying bell, just when I got my groove on with Lara.

Betsy Perry, pre-date No. 4, bravely volunteered her last name. The 37-year-old from Virginia Beach sells surgical equipment for a living.

She seized my attention with this tantalizing line: ``I'm an adventure nut.'' Hmmmm, what kind of adventures?

``I mountain bike, run, play tennis, race outrigger canoes, play volleyball. I like to get active.''

I liked her. She was hyper. This was confirmed later when she admitted, ``I'm kind of hyper.''

The pre-dating scene resembled a job fair. You interviewed candidates, jotted notes and hired people, in this case for relationships. With that in mind, I applied a direct approach with Patty, 35, of Virginia Beach.

``Do you have a resume?'' I asked. She stared blankly at me.

``Do you have any references?'' I inquired.

``No,'' she eventually answered, with a laugh, realizing I was joking. I resisted the urge to ask her what kind of ``experience'' she had. This is a family newspaper.

Later she asked, ``How old are you?''

``I'm 30.''

``Noooooo!'' she shot back. ``You look like you're 24.''

I could have kissed her, but I don't do that on the first pre-date.

Midway through this pre-dating orgy, we took a much-needed break. I hit the restroom where male pre-daters exchanged witty banter, including the following urinal dialogue:

``So you're with the paper, huh?'' asked a tall, nicely dressed guy.

``That's right.''

``Is that photographer working with you?''

``Yeah, she is.''

``She's cute.''

Man, where was that omnipresent bell when I needed it?

Fast forward to pre-date No. 8 -- Pamela Quartararo, a 26-year-old surgical tech from Virginia Beach.

Pamela ranked high on the cool scale with her humor. Mentioning my love for hiking somehow inspired a provocative conversation about female body parts.

``In my first year of Girl Scouts when I was 12,'' she confided, ``a tick landed in the middle of my chest.''

``Ouch.''

``No more deep woods hiking for me. I have no problem with bears or wild animals, but ticks, they freak me out.''

``Wow.''

``Sharks are even fine. I scuba dive all the time.''

``What about spiders?''

``I got bit by a spider in the rear end once. But I have no problem with spiders.''

``What about snakes?''

``Snakes are cool.''

They don't make women like Pamela anymore.

I had a lot in common with my next-to-last pre-date, Michelle Umphlett, a 33-year-old retail manager from Chesapeake. After telling her that I hailed from Detroit, she said she liked Motor City rappers Eminem and Kid Rock. Awesome, me too. And she loved jazz and blues. Even better. But then, unexpectedly, came the potential deal-breaker.

``I also like Matchbox 20,'' she announced.

Say it ain't so, Michelle. Oh well, she liked dogs, which is good enough for me.

At night's end, sadly, I didn't pick any ``matches.'' Though, I did select six ``friends.'' The next morning an e-mail from Pre-Dating Events said all my ``friends'' had also picked me in the same category, so I received their contact information.

Parsons, the event coordinator, said 82 percent of the 22 pre-daters had at least one match. And yours truly didn't do too badly. Several women circled yes for me, said Parsons, but no matches were made since I did not circle yes for them.

``You were quite the popular man,'' she said. Oh, stop it!

I actually had fun pre-dating. The women I met were smart, funny, interesting and attractive. Although six minutes is not nearly enough time to have a meaningful conversation, you can peek into someone's personality on a pre-date and -- let's be frank -- see what they look like.

Still, for idealistic romantics like me, pre-dating lacks the magic of fatefully bumping into the love of your life strolling down a tree-lined street on a glorious, warm spring day.

Hey, it could happen!

In the meantime, I'm going to call Pamela and ask her, ``Where exactly did that spider bite you?''