New Rules for Mastering the Art of Small Talk

Photo by Alaskan Dude.

I despise small talk...that conversation you construct  with someone you don't know very well (if at all)?  I mean, I H-A-T-E it.   You are forced to talk in generalities and there is no "meat" to the conversation. "Where are you from?"  "What do you do?"  "Boy hasn't this weather been awesome!" (Incidentally, if your conversations often move towards the weather, people are really bored by you.) Blah!  Blah!  Blah!  In these situations I glue a perpetual smile upon my face and try to act like I imagine a really skilled sociable person would act.  My cheek muscles burn as I force a pleased and engaged look upon my face.  I act thrilled to be finding out where everyone in the room grew up and where they work.  So enthralled am I, that within five seconds of being introduced, I often forget their names.

In truth, I probably hate small talk because I'm not very good at it...I really don't think anything I have to say is that interesting to strangers and I am also terrified of offending people.  In a new group of people there lies hidden beneath the surface of these interactions, an unknown set of social rules, "do's and don't's", that vary from group to group.  In a first meeting there is no possible way to fully realize what these rules are and the risk of breaking them is extremely high.  For example, what if they are uber religious and/or hate swearing?  It would be so easy to drop a "God Damn It!" or "Mother Fucker!"(by mistake of course) and then what?  They would get this uncomfortable, judgmental look on their faces, and slowly close me off from their conversation circle, the evil blasphemer that I obviously am!  And there I would stand, forlorn and awkwardly alone, shunned by the group. (Mother fuckers!)

I love to be surrounded by incessant talkers during these situations...you know, someone who could carry an entire conversation even if they were alone in a room.  You can smile and nod knowingly without ever having to say anything about yourself!   They totally  unburden you from having to contribute anything meaningful to these conversations. They are so confident in what they have to say about themselves that they share it in a fully, unrestrained way.  It is truly amazing, a gift really.  And what's more, they accomplish this without cussing.  In some ways, I admit, I envy these people and their fearless way of conversing, their effortless, zealous flow of content.  While in other ways, I am annoyed by them.

There are many resources by smart and knowledgeable people about how you can improve your small talk ability.  (I am not one of those people.)  There are endless books, seminars, and websites with helpful small talk hints!  As a novice smaller talker, I would like to propose a couple of new, back alley, small talk rules, that could serve to create your own personal pathway to more success and substance in these brief social encounters.  


Rule 1:  Get drunk before you engage strangers.

The benefits (and risks) to this approach are obvious.  You will never think of yourself as being nearly as interesting or as witty as you do when delightfully plastered.  This feeling of invincibility will lead you confidently into the small talk fray, and make following the next few rules much easier.  (You may even end up in the role of "Incessant Talker" which only helps others in the conversation circle who are even less interested in talking about themselves than you are).

Rule 2:  The "F Bomb" must be launched immediately upon introduction.  

Thus, you will know forthwith if you may swear freely with an individual without risk of offense or judgement.  I can absolutely only hang with people who say the "F" word.  Stopping myself from cursing for the benefit of the vernacularly sensitive is far too exhausting to keep up for very long!  A blurted-out "Cocksucker" seems always to be lurking at the tip of my tongue.

Rule 3:  You must only talk about controversial subject matter.

Enough of the bull shit questions nobody cares about!  Get right to the stuff we all really want to talk about!  I could care less about what you do for work!   What makes you tick, what pisses you off?  Tell me something cool about you or your views about life.  Lie to me if you must!

Rule 4:  You may only speak in questions.

This prevents you from having to share anything about yourself, but also gives your fellow conversationalists the impression that you are interested in learning more about them. 

Rule 5:  There must be a universal code word that excuses you from small talk if you wish not to participate.

Rather than pretending you don't see an acquaintance across the room, or ignoring that mother of your son's classmate to whom you never seem to have anything to say, it should be socially acceptable for you to opt out of any conversation attempt, without offending the other party.  As a small talk society, we should adopt a well known word or phrase, that when evoked, guiltlessly releases one from their small talk obligation.  For example, if someone approached you with the intent to small talk, you could simply say the accepted key word, like maybe "Butter Tart!" and they would have to leave you alone.

Let's review how a sample conversation might play out employing these simple and effective rules.

The Scene:

(Me, entering a crowded room of professional people I have never met and on any ordinary day would never choose to meet, let alone hang out with.  I am dressed uncomfortably, in a dress that poorly hides my muffin top (where are my Spanx??)  Let's imagine it is red...I feel sexy in red.  Perhaps I am also wearing obscenely high heels, which I walk in like a nine year old girl would, were she wearing the same shoes.  My make-up is striking, even if poorly applied.  I have worn a thong for the occasion and am unable to ignore it's upward trend in my nether regions.  

I am trying to act sober, and control the slight lean my body has adopted.  My heels are making remaining upright challenging as they squeeze the last ounces of life from my feet.  I mutter to myself, and take a prolonged gulp of my fancy, schmancy, martini.  I am standing excessively straight because in my inebriated mind I believe that sober people have good posture.  As I stiffly cross the room, I run head on into an attractive well dressed man, who sadly, is not my husband.

Him: "Whoa!  Are you alright?" he asks whilst attempting to prop me up.  

Me:  As most tipsy people can, I manage to avoid spilling a single drop of my drink, and clutch the handsome stranger's arm more firmly than I probably should as I right myself.  It does not escape my notice that his arms are quite firm and well muscled!  My interest is piqued and I can't help but look at his hands. (see Man Hands blog for clarification).

After a moment, I regain my military posture and reply more shrilly than I intend to, "Fuck Me!  Do I appear drunk to you?"  I watch him closely for an inkling of offense and subtly, suck in my stomach.

Him:  Without changing expression he replies, "Only when you move...and um...perhaps when you speak."

Me:  I am encouraged by his lack of contempt.  Drinking makes me feel young again, in a way that let's me pretend I can still capture the interest of men.  I toss my hair out of my face where it has rested since my stumble.  I sway slightly before I ask, "Do you have a problem with drunk women?" 

I tilt my head cleverly as I bite my lip.  Not because I want to make out with him, at least not consciously, but because I am waiting for him to turn stiffly on his heels and leave.  I hold my breath as I await his reply.  Hot men don't talk to me very often.

Him:  "It doesn't necessarily bring out the best in people."  He shifts his body weight away from me, his dazzling suit picking up the hint of grey in his eyes.  I immediately think of Christian.

Me:  Normally such an attractive man would intimidate me, and words would fail me.  The fact that he is still here, talking to me along with the fact that I can no longer feel my body, emboldens me to continue.

Encouraged and moderately dizzy I continue with, "What does bring out the best in people?"  I bob and weave to block his gaze  as he tries to look past me.  Something about his attractiveness makes me want to keep talking, even if he doesn't.  Briefly I wonder if I am invading his personal space.

Him: He sips his own drink slowly, and I think if I were sober, I would be more quick to pick up his embarrassed amusement at my crass banter. "You sound a little defensive, and you are standing on my toes."

Me:  As I step back, I suddenly catch the reflection of a woman in a nearby window, I am momentarily distracted by her obvious drunkenness.  I laugh haughtily to myself, as I realize she is hammered, and I wonder who that pathetic chick is!  

"Where do you stand on gay marriage?" I ask, having dismissed the drunk woman in the window.  I attempt to raise on eyebrow in a clever, sleuth-like manner.  My face registers a twisted look of self assessed cleverness and muted intelligence at my super intriguing question.

Him: He has been looking over my shoulder, and does not hear the question.  "I'm sorry, did you say something?"

(Suddenly, a petite yet surprisingly loud women approaches us and begins speaking in high pitched, excited squeals.  She obviously knows this dashing stranger and is incredibly happy to see him.  Her perfume is overwhelming and I am offended when she presses herself between us. He seems relieved to see her.  I roll my eyes at him knowingly.)

Her: "Oh Ted!  I am SOO happy to see you! " she gushes, touching him as she speaks.  I am standing behind her, holding my drink, uncertain whether or not I should spill it on her.  They begin talking familiarly, as I stand unsteadily nearby.  No attempt is made to include me in their conversation.  I notice smugly, that this interloper has a smudge of lipstick on her teeth, and I giggle loudly to myself.

Him:  "Oh!" the dashing stranger says, suddenly aware that, even though he would rather not be speaking to me, he has exhibited rudeness by so easily forgetting I exist.  I raise my chin slightly, in a proudish way, and also because I can barely see over his acquaintance's volumous hair.  

He begins, "Umm, Lily, uh, this is, um... sorry, I didn't catch your name."  Perfume lady turns slightly to take me in.  She is obviously assessing me to see whether or not I am a rival.  I assume a model's pout, rocking my hotness, as I waiver slightly and spill some of my cocktail on my dress front.  I act like I meant to do it, and stand even straighter, so straight I am almost leaning backwards.

Her:  "Oh, dear, I am soo sorry! Have I interrupted something?" she says without conviction, looking from me to Ted.  She turns, moving closer to hot stuff, and as she looks inquiringly at me, perhaps waiting for me to state my name, where I am from and what I do, she bats her false eyelashes, and I have to resist the urge to punch her.  

Me:  Having had enough of this rancid women, I exclaim, "Butter Tart!" as I press past them, suddenly desperate for the bar.