There is a big difference between not liking small talk and being incapable of engaging in small talk. Personally, I have nothing against small talk. I think it is an excellent way turn marginally awkward situations into unbearably uncomfortable exchanges.
I just wish I was better at it.
At work, I try my darndest to strike up a conversation with fellow co-workers while in the break room or in the elevator. I have narrowed my stock talk down to three topics: Work, weather, and weekends. These three points of superficial discussion typically satisfy the length of time spent between the 2nd and 1st floors while riding in the elevator. As for the break room, I have learned to accept the prolonged periods of silence after we discuss how much work blows today, whether or not it’s going to rain, and how long until our respective weekends. A nodding head and curt responses such as, “cool cool” or “no kidding” or “right on, man” generally precede 4-7 minutes of undeniably excruciating silence.
But like I mentioned before, I do not hate small talk.
I rode my bike to Floyd’s Barber Shop today. Apparently it’s the Starbucks of barber shops, as there appears to be one on every other street corner in Denver. My barber, a nice woman named Dawn, informed me that they’re opening a store in Cape Town, South Africa and London. The walls were papered with posters of the Sex Pistols, Bon Jovi and back issues of Rolling Stone. I guess the place maintained a cool but comfortable ambience; I just didn’t quite see the parallel with haircuts and rock and roll. I’m probably missing something.
After 3 mintues of barbering, Dawn broke the silence by asking me how I slept.
Me: Oh fair, I suppose. It’s my weekend, so I slept in.
Dawn: That’s good. I woke up at 1am and couldn’t fall back asleep. Don’t you hate it when that happens?
Me: I guess.
[silence]
Dawn: So….have you done your taxes yet?
Me: Yes, as a matter of fact I did.
Dawn: And did you get some money back?
Me: Well, I didn’t make that much money last year because I was volunteering in Africa. Peace Corps.
Dawn: Oh wow. Well, I guess I just wanted to know if you had to pay taxes or not, I didn’t mean to pry into your personal life.
Me: Um.
Dawn: How does this look? See how I’m layering on the side?
[scene]
Dawn was a very nice woman, but she reminded me once again that people don’t care too much that I was in Africa. I guess it’s not that she (nor any other person) doesn’t care; rather, I placed her in a position where she had nothing to say. This is an example of small talk gone terribly awry.
Riding my bike back home, the wind was destroying my new doo. On Grant and 10th, a man in a Crysler minivan with an elaborate Thule bike rack system on top rolled down his window and began complimenting me on my Gitane road bike.
Man in minivan: That’s one beautiful Gitane, man!
Me: [glancing at red light, then back at the man in the minivan] Thanks!
Man in Minivan: Is that an original leather saddle? Are those original campagnolo derailers? What an awesome bike, man!
Me: Thanks!
[light turns green, man in minivan drives ahead, waving at me while looking in his rear view mirror]
This is an example of perfectly executed small talk. Not to mention I felt like a bona fide bad ass riding my dad’s custom-built Gitane from the 1970’s.
I guess small talk is like a polio vaccination. It stings at first, but in time, you forget how necessary it is to have in your life. Or something like that.
J,
Good topic choice. It rings very true. I’ve often felt like an utter failure at small talk since returning a l’Amerique. African small talk is superior to American small talk because people DO actually get personal, or at least the question is personal, regardless of whether the answer is an accurate. I think the key to excelling at small talk in the U.S. is embracing/becoming as obsessed as the average Joe with the minute details of your life. You know – rice milk or soy?, last night’s episode of Lost, Sierra Nevada vs. Redhook, how much tourists cramp your commuting style (ok, that’s a very personal gripe)…the stuff that isn’t too revealing and that other people relate to.
That’s my two cents. Thanks for giving me something to read during my less-than-stimulating afternoon : )
Ok, so I have a lot to say about this. Well, really just three things.
1. This made me realize that I’ve only really heard you make small talk in French. I guess I never realized that the awkwardness I picked up on wasn’t the foreign language; it was just you.
2. I’ve been surprised to find that most people are very interested in talking about Africa, particularly my Amazing Race addicted boss. My hair dresser digs it too.
3. If you do decide not to bring your car up to Seattle, definitely bring a bike. But try not to become one of those car-hating biker jerks. We have a lot of those up here.