One of them - Diane, a surgeon’s coordinator at a Manhattan hospital - matter-of-factly told me she would never date a man in uniform again after ending a tumultuous seven-year relationship with an NYPD cop.)Ī round of shots and an order of sweet-potato fries arrived at the table. (The woman’s two friends were there to support her quest. One, who had long black hair and wore blood-red matte lipstick, told me she had attended one of Soletti’s parties before the pandemic and didn’t have any luck but wanted to give it another shot. I approached a picnic table where a group of three 30-something women sat talking. “The guys just didn’t see any girls they liked and then left.”Īt around 9 p.m., with the women and men just beginning to mix with one another inside, I visited the massive back patio to see who had come out for air. “There’s no way that happened,” the firefighter, who was not there, quipped. According to Soletti, there was a fire during the festivities, and some of the men left to report to their firehouses. I asked him if he had heard about the last party, which was held in April. The Yonkers firefighter said he had been to one “Rescue Me” party several years ago but that this was his first since the pandemic.
FIRE MAN SAM VIDEO FULL
“Any girl who says otherwise is full of shit,” she added with a cocked eyebrow. “If you want to be rescued and taken care of by a man because your dad left.” I laughed. He told me about this work, like the time he held a man’s fractured skull in his hands - how disturbing, how life-altering it was to feel the bones move beneath his fingertips.
FIRE MAN SAM VIDEO MOVIE
As we waited for a drink, he helped me complete a trivia card with firefighter-related questions (“Which of the following companies carry hose lines?” “Which isn’t a legit movie about firefighters?”) that the hosts had given all guests as an icebreaker. He exuded confidence without seeming overeager. He had an angular jawline with stubble and wore a bright button-down shirt patterned with flowers and tigers baring their teeth. Standing at the bar, I met a Yonkers firefighter. (Gleefully, he replied that, yes, he met his former long-term girlfriend at the gym.) He regarded me, then said, without skipping a beat, “Well, where do you meet women? Do you meet them at the gym?” I turned the question back on him. The third firefighter - who had wide eyes, a tan complexion, and a skintight T-shirt - asked me where I normally go to meet men. Why did they keep coming? To meet “cool new people,” they said. I first approached a group of three firefighters, two of whom were brothers who had both been regulars at Soletti’s parties for years. Women tended to stand on the periphery of the room, speaking furtively to one another, scoping out their prospects.
They congregated around high tables drinking beer, freshly showered and laughing, some of them making a beeline for the bar. The odds were clearly stacked in the men’s favor according to Soletti, 40 men and 100 women had paid an attendance fee and registered ahead of the event. But the appetite for them endures: According to Soletti, since the parties resumed, attendance has been climbing steadily.īy the time I arrived, about an hour into the party, the room was already more than half-full but was largely segregated by gender. (For their heroism, retired firefighters, EMTs, paramedics, policemen, and Marines are also allowed to attend.) The brainchild of Amber Soletti - the founder of an events company that hosts themed parties and singles mixers - “Rescue Me” parties have been going strong since 2008 and in recent months have started to find their footing after being paused when the pandemic hit. The occasion was “Rescue Me,” a singles mixer for New York women and, as they say, New York’s bravest. The men were firefighters, the women were not firefighters, and both sides had come for a chance at love - or something like it, perhaps - with each other. They weren’t there for happy hour, they weren’t there to dance, and they weren’t even there to watch the New York Rangers’ playoff game against Tampa Bay, which blared on the dozen-plus flat-screen TVs inside. Last Friday, at a sprawling bar and event space in Astoria, a line of buzzing men and women spilled out of the entryway and into the cool night air. Photo-Illustration: The Cut Photos: Getty
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