Steve Rinehart worked the room, which had the look of a large, converted high school basketball court with rows of folding chairs. He circled the aisles, scoping out the women and peering over shoulders for friends.
"It's a meat market," Rinehart, 36, said with a sigh before giving it a shot. He approached a slim woman in her early 30s who was seated alone. They shook hands. She said she was a librarian. He said he was a lawyer. She gave a lukewarm smile and looked at her phone. "Typical," Rinehart muttered to himself as he walked away before running into an ex-girlfriend who had saved him a chair.