Small Talk
Nov. 10th, 2004 12:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pjthompsonI've never been good at small talk, mostly because I find it so unnecessary. I'm comfortable inside my own head and don't feel the need to fill the void with noise. I do realize it serves some socializing function: people have this antsy feeling that it's rude to be silent, so they fill the empty air with chat; people reach out trying to make new friends, so they start with the basics, etc., and I think you can feel when those are the kinds of things people are doing. I don't mind that and I'll play the game, commenting on the weather or how many floors on the elevator have been punched.
But there's this other component to small talk that I find harder to take: people who just like to hear themselves talk; people who are desperately uncomfortable inside their own heads and want to distract themselves from too much thought; people who want to establish dominance or control or ascertain the pecking order. All of these things can be covered with small talk, too, and I think it's just as obvious when someone is engaging in this kind of chat. I usually remain silent in such presences—acknowledge that I've been addressed with a vague smile and a raised eyebrow. I just don't want to contribute to the noise quotient. Which, I suppose, makes me something of a hardass. It's a fair cop.
No real point to this post except that it was a morning dominated by small talk on the way in—of both varieties.
I did see one interesting vignette on the drive to work this morning. I pulled up to a stoplight behind a beat up flat panel truck. The guy in the cab was grizzled, with a thick, drooping mustache, and I remember thinking he reminded me of a character from Tim Powers's novel, Last Call—Archimedes Mavronos, the neighbor and friend who was dying of cancer. And I was driving through Venice at the time, which I have associated with Powers ever since I read Dinner At Deviant's Palace, not one of my favorite Powers books, but memorable since I'm a native Venetian. (Or is that Venusian? Often the lines become blurred in Venice, California.)
Anyway, the guy in the truck...The back of the cab was plastered with Oakland Raiders decals, the license plate holder had Oakland on the top frame and JRAIDERS as the license, and the back end of the truck had three bumpers stickers, reading left to right: "Oakland Raiders," "Bush/Cheney '04," and "Boycott France." Hey, I just had to laugh. Then as we were toodling down the street together, a car zipped around me and pulled in behind the truck. That car had a Kerry/Edwards sticker on the back and soon decided to zip around the truck, as well, and speed off down the road. I thought it was emblematic of something, but like all metaphors, best left to the reader to decide the meaning.
Enough small talk.
But there's this other component to small talk that I find harder to take: people who just like to hear themselves talk; people who are desperately uncomfortable inside their own heads and want to distract themselves from too much thought; people who want to establish dominance or control or ascertain the pecking order. All of these things can be covered with small talk, too, and I think it's just as obvious when someone is engaging in this kind of chat. I usually remain silent in such presences—acknowledge that I've been addressed with a vague smile and a raised eyebrow. I just don't want to contribute to the noise quotient. Which, I suppose, makes me something of a hardass. It's a fair cop.
No real point to this post except that it was a morning dominated by small talk on the way in—of both varieties.
I did see one interesting vignette on the drive to work this morning. I pulled up to a stoplight behind a beat up flat panel truck. The guy in the cab was grizzled, with a thick, drooping mustache, and I remember thinking he reminded me of a character from Tim Powers's novel, Last Call—Archimedes Mavronos, the neighbor and friend who was dying of cancer. And I was driving through Venice at the time, which I have associated with Powers ever since I read Dinner At Deviant's Palace, not one of my favorite Powers books, but memorable since I'm a native Venetian. (Or is that Venusian? Often the lines become blurred in Venice, California.)
Anyway, the guy in the truck...The back of the cab was plastered with Oakland Raiders decals, the license plate holder had Oakland on the top frame and JRAIDERS as the license, and the back end of the truck had three bumpers stickers, reading left to right: "Oakland Raiders," "Bush/Cheney '04," and "Boycott France." Hey, I just had to laugh. Then as we were toodling down the street together, a car zipped around me and pulled in behind the truck. That car had a Kerry/Edwards sticker on the back and soon decided to zip around the truck, as well, and speed off down the road. I thought it was emblematic of something, but like all metaphors, best left to the reader to decide the meaning.
Enough small talk.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-10 08:54 pm (UTC)And I hate the small talk thing, too, and yet resent my lack of small talk skills for the reasons you listed. but that's not something I like to talk about. ;-)
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Date: 2004-11-10 09:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-11 07:01 am (UTC)If only those were what I saw 'round where I live. *sigh* I see a lot more that say things like "Nuke their ass, take their gas" and other violent, inappropriate sentiments. It's really creepy when you see something horribly violent like that beside the "My kid is an honor student at [public school]". Ewwwww.
Although I'm very, very, very amused by stickers on cars that have US flags with the words "These colors don't run!" and then, because this is Nevada, the colours have indeed faded/run from sunlight exposure since 2001. Tee hee. Silly idiots.
Our old Geo had three country stickers: Canada, Australia, and New Zealand (the first for me, second two for hubby) and a Nevada's Not a Wasteland anti-Yucca-nuke-dump sticker, but that car's dead now and there's nothing on the Civic. :(
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Date: 2004-11-11 06:29 pm (UTC)Yoy. That is creepy.
So you're a Canadian imported to Nevada? That must have been quite a culture shock.
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Date: 2004-11-13 08:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-11 08:48 am (UTC)Are you an only child? I've read that people with no siblings do not socialize in the same way as people with siblings.
Ehhh...boycot France? *shakes head* :)
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Date: 2004-11-11 06:30 pm (UTC)Like you, I just refuse to play. Life is too short. It doesn't always work in my favor, though...
Are you an only child? I've read that people with no siblings do not socialize in the same way as people with siblings.
I liked to think so, but my brother disagreed. :-)
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Date: 2004-11-11 07:11 pm (UTC)Hah! Hilarous! *lol*
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Date: 2004-11-14 03:12 pm (UTC)It really aggravates me when I'm forced into small-talk in my personal life. It not only goes against the grain but makes me feel as though I'm in work. And that makes me grumpy.
That said, I don't think Europeans feel compelled to fill the spaces in conversation the way Americans are.
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Date: 2004-11-14 09:19 pm (UTC)A good skill to have. Since I deal only with researchers and their documents, I can let my natural surliness shine. ;-)
It really aggravates me when I'm forced into small-talk in my personal life. It not only goes against the grain but makes me feel as though I'm in work. And that makes me grumpy.
Ditto. It's not the mask I choose to wear in private.
That said, I don't think Europeans feel compelled to fill the spaces in conversation the way Americans are.
I absolutely agree--at least that's been my experience. It seems to be a positive mania with Americans. Mustn't let any contemplative silences intrude upon the blather. But then, I think we suffer more from the cult of personality over here than Europeans or Canadians. So it doesn't strike me as a North American phenomenon, just an American one. I wonder why? I don't think we can blame this personality hitch on those dour Puritans, but it might be worth a shot. ;-)
no subject
Date: 2004-11-14 09:25 pm (UTC)