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Sadly, I'm already there! |
I'M not
really a party animal but I can shake a tail feather or two should the need
arise. I'm not so bothered about making a fool of myself on the dance floor –
even if I do look like an arthritic pensioner on speed - as being stuck for
conversation with a stranger.
I'm not like
the better half who loves talking to people or, more importantly, listening to
what they have to say. At the end of any occasion he is full of the stories he
has been told and the interesting things he has found out. Just don’t get him
started on politics. I’ve seen grown men weep after being cornered and
subjected to his forthright views.
I’m not good at
small talk and dread a silence descending on a conversation. I cast about for
something to chat about as my opposite number throws panic-stricken glances
towards the door. Or worse, I start babbling - and eyes glaze over and smiles
fix on faces.
As a former
newspaper person I tend to fill up the silences by relapsing into interview
mode and people can feel like I’m interrogating them rather than
chatting. I haven’t yet
asked the questions: “Do you mind telling me how old you are?” or “Could you
spell your name, please?” but I’m sure they will slip out one day.
Over the years
I have tried to soften that approach and I have gathered a mental check-list of
things to ask. They are of the "isn’t the weather lovely/dreadful for the
time of year, what do you do for a living, where did you grow up, do you have
any pets?" variety. I know to steer clear of politics (better half, take
note) and religion so I don't ask anyone what they think of a hereditary third
chamber or whether transubstantiation is a metaphor or a reality.
But after one
recent encounter I considered changing my tactics when it came to the art of conversation.
I was approached by a smiling man who said: "I was always told not to
speak to strangers but you don't look like a serial killer." It made me
laugh and broke the ice and we had a lovely chat about crime channels on TV and
then about the beautiful walks in Devon where, hopefully, no serial killers are
lurking.
So, I thought,
from now on I'm going to ask an ice-breaker question and see where it leads me.
The problem would be finding the balance between sounding interesting and
humorous or coming across as a complete idiot you would walk naked across
Dartmoor in winter to avoid. It's a fine line but I was willing to risk it.
I asked my
family for some help in thinking up that icebreaker question and, surprise,
surprise, they looked at me as if I were mad (believe me, I'm used to that
look) and were less than helpful. One niece said I should start by asking:
"If you feed a chicken sausages, will it lay a scotch egg?" I shook
my head in despair but she justified it by saying I could then go on to talk
about all the people who keep hens in their gardens. Yes, that's if they're
still around to talk to and not pretending someone on the other side of the
room is waving to them.
Most were total
conversation stoppers rather than starters so I won't be asking: "Who do
you think is responsible for the blame culture in this country?" Thank
you, nephew. And he offered this gem as a way of getting into someone’s good
books: "If you were a nose, I would pick you first." And there goes
another one making a bolt for freedom.
I read
somewhere that words contribute only 10 per cent to a conversation; the rest is
made up of tone of voice and body language. So I'm practising not crossing my
arms or legs in a defensive pose, relaxing my shoulders, keeping eye contact,
nodding while other people talk and using my hands expressively. I need to talk more slowly and in a slightly
deeper voice than normal. All good tips I found on the internet.
This is great,
I thought, and at the next family get-together decided to practise on
relatives. I approached one likely candidate and clean forgot my
"icebreaker" question, but suddenly remembered the one about the
chicken and the scotch egg. I blurted out this “hilarious” joke and received a
stony stare in return. So I started to babble about hens and gardens - then
remembered my internet research and began to talk more slowly and a tone lower.
I waved my hands about in what I thought was an expressive manner. I stared her
in the eye and unslumped my shoulders so much that they were practically at my
knees.
She looked at
me unsmilingly for a few seconds as I waited for her response to my
scintillating conversation. She finally said: "Are you drunk?" and
walked off. That’s the thing about family members, there’s no sugar-coating any
pills.
Oh well, the next time I need to talk to someone I will start by commenting on the weather and then ask them what they do for a living. If they tell me how old they are and how they spell their name, so much the better.
Before you leave:
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- Look in left column under Grounds For Divorce, Or Proof That I'm Living With A Madman for some short posts about the man I share my life with. (If you're reading on a phone it will be somewhere else - possibly at the top).
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I'm so hopeless at small talk, I spend most of my time avoiding situations where there might be people that need talking to, or want to talk.
ReplyDeleteI'm so unused to talking I stumble over the words and people think I stammer.
I despise small talk too, but I love the opening line about the serial killer. Of course, you have to have the right personality to pull that one off.
ReplyDeleteThat serial killer line is awesome! I avoid small talk if possible. It helps that most of the people I hang with are fellow authors. Sometimes we rarely talk at all with our noses buried in our writing. Other times we discuss things like... well... how to kill people. ~grin~ Happy New Year!
ReplyDelete