Уголок Романчика

A few days ago I was looking for an article about anthropology, linguistics and social life in Pierce College library. Within a few hours and tons of boring stuff I found this amazingly funny article about our daily problem which we never discuss out loud. You will find it under the cut.

Author(s): Charlebois, Jeff

Document types: Feature
Publication title: Ability Magazine. Costa Mesa: Feb 29, 2004. Vol. 2004 pg. 10

The English language can be a useful tool, that is, when it’s used for writing. As for speaking, this form of communication has evolved into a nuisance that nips at your heels like a pesky Yorkshire terrier. Don’t misunderstand; there is nothing wrong with talking. In fact, two people chatting can even be a pleasant sight. It’s when the conversation is directed at you that it quickly escalates into a crisis.
An exchange usually starts with a simple question, something witty and clever such as, «How are you?» A deep breath and cautious, «I’m fine,» is often uttered in response. The hope is that the discussion will end there and you’ll be free again to accomplish meaningful tasks, like catching a cat nap or getting your tires rotated. An urban legend tells of conversations that have ended with an «I’m fine» before, but in all honesty, no one has ever witnessed one of these. Most likely, an «I’m fine» will lead to other unnecessary questions such as, «Is that a new shirt?» or «Have you seen Jimmy around?»
Your mind must now begin a tedious, calculating process. This is especially mentally draining since your answers will determine how long you will be entwined in small talk. For instance, to admit to having seen Jimmy lends itself to further interrogation. «Is he working? Is he married? Is he shooting up heroin?» You have no idea. You don’t care. You never even liked Jimmy.
However, to say that you haven’t seen Jimmy around could cause the conversation to be redirected toward you with such questions as, «How’s your love life?» and «Are you still working at the box factory?» The best thing to do is to instill a feeling of awkwardness–a God-sent remedy for cutting a conversation short. The discourse may sound something similar to, «Have you seen Jimmy around?»
«No,» you reply «not since he tried to touch me one night.» He’ll be gone before you can say, «It’s been great catching up with you.»
For some people, avoiding the «How are you?» has become an art. The key is to spot the other person before they see you. If one happens to be that fortuitous, he is now in a position to plot a quick getaway. The escape is usually a detour completely out of the way, but the reward is well worth the effort. So what if you have to trudge an extra mile through a back alley festering with winos and rodents. At least they’re not going to ask, «How are you?» And if they do initiate conversation, it’ll be an incoherent murmur that you can bet will have nothing to do with their kid being on the honor roll.
An excellent example of the avoidance technique occurred one day when a man noticed his former boss in a grocery store. Tired of ducking up and down the vegetable aisle, he found refuge in a secluded area. A few days later he was discovered in the storage room, hiding under a moldy crate of Wheat Chex. Sure, he ended up missing his own wedding, but at least he avoided an awkward, lengthy dialogue.
Then there’s the person–and we all have one in our life–who only has one story in common with you, a brief moment in time you shared decades ago. This moment is replayed every time a chance meeting occurs. And, as if it were a Scrabble game, something new gets added to the story each time you meet. The original encounter may have been something mundane such as meeting this person at a Wendy’s and having a Frosty. But now, after the eighth meeting, the story has evolved into a spontaneous rendezvous with the two of you speeding off to Atlantic City where you wrestled an alligator and chased a cheap dancer with a tattoo of a swinging chimpanzee on her back.
To keep things interesting, a conversation should involve the exchange of something outrageous. Unfortunately, this is as rare as an Irishman picking avocados in California. «I have some extra money I could give you,» is good start. A statement like that juices the interest. It puts life into the conversation. Now there’s something in this for me. Your 14 year-old on the junior varsity soccer team lost me, but a no-interest hand-out, well brother, I’m all ears.
Talk is cheap unless you’re closing a deal, ordering a cheeseburger or asking your spouse, «Have you seen my shoes?» A reply of, «They’re on your feet,» can prove to be useful information. It’s helpful, especially if you hope to be granted entrance into a 7-11, that is, provided you’re wearing a shirt.
It would probably be a better world if people actually cared about what what other people had to say, but we don’t. We’re too busy contemplating what problems we can dump on you. As for hearing about the family accolades, well that should be kept to, oh, let’s say, the family. Most of us have a cousin doing time up-state and we don’t need to hear about little Suzy’s acceptance into Bryn Mar. We’re still trying to cover for a sibling that recently announced he was gay at the Thanksgiving dinner table. Which incidentally, dampened dessert time.
Perhaps the most difficult chore throughout the idle chitchat process is looking interested. Flashing beams of enthusiasm followed by buzz words like, «Oh, really?» or «I heard that,» are always favorites–especially around the trailer park water cooler. It’s important to look interested because down the line you’re going to expect the same look in return when you begin spilling your boring anecdotes. That look is what gives your piddling tale meaning. It’s the go ahead sign to continue on with your pitiful story, no matter how painful it is to the listener. «Did I tell you about my latest trip to the proctologist?» You painfully nod.
Talk can be entertaining occasionally, if gossip is thrown into the conversation pit. A dose of defamation is like a 10 milligram Xanex. It loosens you up, allowing you to drop your defenses. The focus is no longer on you. There’s no need to think about a response. There’s no need to watch what you say. You’re talking about someone else who isn’t there. «Yeah, I don’t like the guy, either. You know he tried to touch me.»
«I heard that,» someone enthusiastically responds.
Some people just love to talk. Unfortunately, it’s always the people you don’t want to listen to. Concentration becomes an exhausting process and you find yourself nodding after every sentence. Before you know it, you’ve agreed to drop this person off in Newark and spot him two hundred bucks–just ’til he gets back on his feet.
It’s also not uncommon to become preoccupied by the little things, like trying to remember the name of the person you are conversing with. Is it Bill, Bob, Bart, Bing… dammit, I know it begins with a B. Usually name data isn’t important when it’s a one-on-one dialogue. You can skate by with, «I know what you’re saying, bro,» or «You got that right, buddy.» But, if you have someone with you, an introduction is in order. «Have you met Ba…Bi…Bo…,» you mumble like a moron until he interjects, «Hi, I’m Larry.»
The best thing about talking is that it makes you appreciate silence. Quietness is that sweet solemn smell of tranquility. I don’t have the strength to listen to your stories. Feed ‘em to the bears. If they’re so important, write them down and publish them. Who knows? Maybe when it’s in a bookstore I’ll buy it–provided nobody interrupts my browsing with an onslaught of trivial confabulation.
You want the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth? You can’t handle the truth! How am I doing? The truth is I’m okay, but I’d be a whole lot better if you put me on your Do-Not-Call list. Solicit chat elsewhere.