As a general rule, I avoid any situation where I might have to engage in extended small talk with complete strangers. This includes parties, mixers, networking events and my annual physical. It’s not that I don’t like people, it’s just that I’m as well-equipped for small talk as an M1 Abrams tank is for sailing.
For me, meeting people at a casual social gathering is an invitation to disaster.
“Hi, I’m Kevin,” I’ll stick out my hand in a friendly manner and hope they’re the kind of person who isn’t particularly interested in people named Kevin.
They’ll share their name and my brain will immediately file it in long-term, irretrievable storage right next to the last known location of my car keys, my wife’s birthday, and the reminder to pick up the dry-cleaning on the way home. My brain is essentially lazy and figures that tossing things out is easier than remembering them.
The handshake ends and the awkwardness starts while each of us waits for the other to say something. The tension builds and when my brain doesn’t offer anything useful, my mouth takes off without it.
“Soooo….”
Realizing it’s been left behind, my brain misses the clutch and strips a couple of gears trying to catch up. “Nice…ummm….”
What? What’s nice? Think! Think! This place? The food? That hairpiece? No, of course you don’t mention the hairpiece even if it does look like he scalped a woodchuck and pasted that on his skull. Oh no! He’s staring. Say something! Anything!
“Nice…uh…casual social gathering.”
There. I’m done. I’ve lobbed the conversational tennis ball over the net and it’s in the other guy’s court. All I have to do is feign polite interest while he talks. Unless he bounces back a soft lob of his own with, “Yes, it certainly is nice.”
“Very nice,” I agree, bouncing it back to him.
“Yep. Nice.”
“Really, really nice.”
“Yeah. Nice.”
Having exhausted the many conversational possibilities that embody the complex concept of “this is a nice casual social gathering”, one or the other of us has to move on to something else. Once again, my mouth runs out to the middle of the court and lobs one over without bothering to consult my brain.
“I’ve never been here before. This place is really … nice.”
Brilliant. Another five minutes of “that’s nice” and then it’s time for a new topic about something else in the room that’s nice.
The best way to start a conversation (or so I’m told) is to ask an open-ended question like, “So, what do you think of this place?”
When I try this the other person invariably says, “It’s nice” and I’m right back where I started.
I’ve tried asking about current events or sports, but all I ever hear is that the weather is nice, or that the Pittsburgh Steelers are nice or that the University of Utah Football team got ripped off by the BCS and should have been the national champion last year.
Maybe I should be grateful. The people I seem to get stuck with are dull, but at least they aren’t dangerous. I’ve heard horror stories about conversational hijackers.
These are the folks who take control of any conversation and steer it to the destination of their choice, regardless of where it started. For example, someone might be offering a thoughtful opinion like, “I believe that it is vital that we solve the country’s fiscal crisis and get people back to work as quickly as possible.”
“I know what you mean,” the hijacker will say. “Just last night I was working in my yard. Have I told you about my yard? It’s gorgeous. Everybody says that our grass is the greenest and our…flowers…are…”
When he notices everyone staring, the hijacker might catch himself and say, “Oh. Sorry. Didn’t mean to run away with the conversation. Do go on Mr. President.”
Most likely, the hijacker is just slow to realize what everyone else in the room already knows; he’s rude and he’s just feeding his ego. A related class of conversational criminal is the mastermind. This is a guy who is smarter than everyone else on the planet and doesn’t mind telling you so.
“At my last job,” he says, “I figured out how to save the company seven billion dollars a second, but the managers didn’t like being shown up. So they fired me. Before that I worked for the transit company where I figured how to get the buses to pick up people before they knew they wanted a ride, but they don’t like people out-thinking them so they fired me.”
If you let him, this guy will go on all day committing crimes against humility.
The worst of the bunch are the conversation killers.
Imagine you and some friends are discussing weighty matters such as the long-term economic impact of bio-diesel on small-scale farming, or how virtuous you feel buying Fair Trade Coffee, or whether Ricky Gervais is funnier than Steve Carell. The conversational killer will keep to himself, quiet-like, for a while. Without warning, he bursts out with something like, “The doctor says I’m only contagious when I’m breathing or talking, but they hope to find a cure real soon.”
The conversation will die instantly as everyone suddenly remembers urgent engagements on the other side of the planet.
The only way to steer clear of any of these types is to avoid situations where you wind up making small talk to strangers. That’s why I rarely ever go to social gatherings. If I am forced to, I stick to the edges of the room and try to blend in with the scenery. I’m less a party guest and more like the world’s most obvious spy.
If you happen to see me at one of these events, don’t hesitate to come over, though. I’d love to tell you what a nice party it is.
