I was standing in a public bathroom surrounded by naked girls for thirty minutes and no one had spoken.
“Can you please help me put on my shirt?” A pair of Double-D’s politely spoke up. I obliged.
After she had broken the ice, I realized that it was my turn to make conversation. And maybe a friend.
“I just can’t get the smell of manure off of me,” I offered. “I think I am going to perpetually smell like cow poo for the remainder of my natural life.”
I waited for a response. A, “Yes, me to”. A giggle. A, “I use soap.” Anything, really.
She left, a mute, and I stood alone, naked, smelling like shit.
I don’t know how to make Small Talk. Big Talk I am fine with.
“How are you?” someone may ask.
“Did you know that the collective term for tadpoles is a Cloud of Tadpoles?” I may inexplicitly reply.
I can even do Sex Talk rather well, as I have found that both “Yes” and “I can put my leg behind my head” (Read: I can’t) work exceptionally well during the initial meeting of a fellow person.
But Small Talk – the need to fill the air with sound to avoid an awkward silence – is lost on me. But I see other people do it successfully all of the time.
“Hi!”
“Hello.”
“How are you?”
“Fine. And you?”
“Fantastic. I just had a bottle of vodka for breakfast and feel like I could take over the world…”
I observe these types of people (Read: normal people) and I am envious at their ease of communicating with a stranger. And enjoying vodka for breakfast.
I am often referred to as an Ice Queen in new social situations. It is an apt description, really, and if I actually spoke in these instances I would possibly try and dispute it. But, instead, I sit back, observe, and wait for the conversation to turn to politics, philosophy or, well, sex before I decide to speak.
“Why don’t you just practice asking little questions when you are faced with new people?” My mother offered as advice.
“Because I just don’t care,” I responded.
“Just a simple ‘How are you’ or a ‘What did you do today’ is all it takes.”
“But I just don’t care.”
I am not lying. As unpopular is it may (Read: does) make me, Small Talk signifies pleasantries that I really could not care less about. I completely understand that a stranger does not care that I spent forty-five minutes trying to scrub the smell of cow poop off my leg, just like I don’t care that He/She bought strawberry jam and then had a picnic at lunch time. I am much more interested in Their opinion on the period of Enlightenment. Or how They would stop Japanese whaling. Or if they want tomorrows breakfast scrambled or sunny-side-up.
I don’t have anyone in my life I would call an acquaintance. I have friends, people I have sat and observed silently for forty-five minutes and people I have slept with. I ask my friends big questions and try to get to know them as best I can. I listen to the ones I observe [and possibly become friends/sleep with them at a later date]. But I don’t waste conversation on people I am not interested in. Nor do I want it in return.
The way I see it, there are [currently] six billion people on the planet. The average person lives for eighty years. These types of numbers do not bode well for anyone attempting to acquaint with an enviable portion of the population. So, instead of fighting nature, mathematics and my own personality, I focus on the five, six, ten or twenty people I do love and respect and dedicate my conversation [and Big Talk] to them.
Of course, there is a need to meet people, but I have found that people who want to Really get to know each other forgo small talk anyway.
Small Talk, therefore, was merely invented for people who simply need to fill the air with sound to avoid an awkward silence. Because asking, “How are you?” and not caring is far more acceptable and polite than ignoring and focusing on the person you actually are interested in.
I sat in my favorite bar In The World enjoying a scotch for breakfast.
“That seems like a very big meal for such a small girl,” a boy asserted as he sashayed past me carrying beers.
I smiled, nodded and returned back to my book.
“What are you doing later?” He enquired.
I wanted to tell him that I would be investigating the staying powers of manure scents. But, like everyone else, I figured that he just wouldn’t give a shit.
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