I’m not very good at what I like to call “normal people stuff”, and one of my worst is small talk. I hate small talk to a degree that it almost makes my eyeballs turn to goo and bleed out of my faceholes whenever I feel like it’s about to be imposed upon me. And since our country decided that “Sanrio announces Hello Kitty not really a cat” and “Tony Soprano isn’t really dead” (you know, even though the dude who played him is dead, how’s that for shit luck) are the most important goings-on in the world today, I figured I would complain about you all here on my page on the internets, and bitch and moan about some of the worst types of small talk.
1. Talking about things that are normal but a big deal to you: Okay, as unfortunate as it may seem to me, things like having kids, being nagged by your ever-annoying way-too-stereotypically-female-to-be-allowed-to-own-vocal-chords wife, or being late for some meeting nobody knows anything about because they don’t work with you- are all things most people you will be around have dealt with numerous times, or at least have heard others talk about so much they don’t need to hear it yet again. The thing is, just because it is important to you, doesn’t mean anyone else gives a fuck. YOU might be totally excited your two-month old triplets stopped throwing their gross baby shit at your wife’s face, but nobody else cares. Nobody cares about the zany debacle that ensued when little Sally couldn’t find her sandals and you were late for the little league game of the century. UGHHHH IT IS SO BORING!
2. The “how are you” walk-by: This is a really dirty version of small talk, where the perpetrator tries to sideswipe you with conversation as you innocently attempt to avoid eye contact and move past them and on with your life. They walk past you and in mid-step they vomit the dreaded “Hey, how are you” out of their infected mouth parts. IN MID STEP! And if you try to close this little session down with a “ok how are you” (the one nobody ever really means), the dude tells you, in detail, just exactly how he is, AS HE IS STILL WALKING AWAY! Please stop doing this, people. It’s bad enough you stop people you only knew for a half hour every day in English class fifteen years ago to tell them about how your little angel finally stopped licking the dog’s balls for no reason, it’s another thing to try to spark up a conversation about as someone is actively trying to escape your attempt. Seriously, no one cares.
3. Your stupid bumper stickers: Yeah I know this isn’t exactly considered a form of small talk, but in my world that’s exactly what this is an attempt at. The second I’m stuck behind your ugly tan Dodge Caravan, and have to read another ” keep the Christ in Christmas” bumper sticker slathered across the back of the dusty window smeared with slimy children’s fingerprints, you’re forcing me to have a conversation in my head. Essentially I have to have small talk with myself. I have to ask myself what kind of jackass would say something like this, then I have to do follow-up questions, who would care about this so much they’d glue it to the back of their car? Why aren’t there any “Keep the Han in Hanukkah” stickers? It’s a Star Wars themed Jewish holiday, and I’m all for it!
4. “Nice to meet you”: Goodbyes don’t escape the small talk nightmare, either. When someone says “it was nice to meet you”, you usually are expected to say “oh blahbittyblah it was oh so nice to meet you, too”. The thing is, this usually happens after you had -barely- been introduced to someone, then spent all night no where near them, then when they’re leaving they pull this “nice to meet you” shit. Well, you know what, most times it really wasn’t all that nice to meet you, at most times it was marginal -at best-. Unless meeting you was accompanied by fireworks shooting out of Russian vaginas, a parade of circus elephants or those sort of elephant-things from Lord of the Rings that gave Sam a hard-on, and the reemergence of Tupac in non-holographic form, I probably didn’t find it all that nice, at all. In fact, meeting you probably meant I was forced into the position to have even more awful small talk and aware of the fact that upon leaving, I’d have to deal with the “nice to meet you” bullshit because I’m too crippled to duck out before some stupid motherfucker decides they really want to talk to me about their shitty life and kids again.
A number 5? I don’t have one, I’m tired of talking about the type of talking I don’t want you to do. Just stop it, if all of you got together in one room it would be the equivalent of a flatlining heart machine noise repeating for hours, with over-indulgent laughter and oh-so-crazy little anecdotes about who suburbia truly isn’t the nightmare world of baby-puke and lawnmowers that we all know it truly is.