Published in On Our Selection News October 3, 2013

Talking to strangers is really hard work.

At a less than reputable “niteclub hotspot” I was seated next to a friend who was deep in conversation with a “cute Irish doctor guy”. Being the exemplary friend that I was, I decided to sit it out – I would not abandon my post. Bored, and sick of crappy music that was blasting through the air, I was more than happy when what seemed to be an interesting person fell on his back next to the felt cube I was perched on.

Surely, I thought, that if someone was at a point that they could lose their balance, they would be entertaining in conversation. But I was quite wrong to make this assumption. Straight away this fellow launched into a deeply serious conversation about his wearing of ear plugs.

Yep, da clubz get pretty noisy, so everyone should be wearing ear plugs. I understand that. I’d be pretty upset if the heavy sound vibrations from the freshest Pitball track caused the sound receptor hairs in my ear to break off or lay flat, rendering me deaf. But surely there are other things to going on. I tried to veer off topic, but conversation was abruptly steered back to the plugs. This guy had a serious agenda.

It was horrendous. I learned more about ear plugs than I ever hoped I would. As much as I tried to be polite and appear interested, there was a point where I had to break out the old “I cut my foot before and my shoe is filling up with blood,” equivalent line.

I had forsaken friendship and I did not regret a thing. But the whole matter got me thinking about small talk. What if I was just as bad? What if my conversation was just as boring? There are only so many times I can break out the classic “how about that local sporting team?” or “so, that current event hey?” before things dry up.

I’ve never had someone limp away from me with a shoe full of pretend blood, but now I was becoming paranoid.

I remember back in college, everywhere you went people had the same three small talk topics stashed up their sleeves. “Where are you from?”, “What do you study?”, and “What college are you at?” were about as unavoidable as having to wait for a port-a-loo and goon laybacks. Everyone had at least three trusty questions they could rely on, and while they were excruciatingly annoying, they did break the ice.

But now, out in the real world, approaching a stranger is a whole new kettle of fish. On several occasions people have come up to me with the opening line “I like your glasses”, and it never fails to knock me back. What does this person mean by that? What exactly are they hoping to achieve? Do they actually like my glasses or are they implying that I wear glasses not because I need them, but for the “nerd look”. I respond with “thanks, I need them to see,” which apparently is a massive shut down, because these people always seem to shuffle away.

Perhaps I’m judgemental, but strangers really are strange, but in the most boring possible way. Now I understand why parents tell their kids not to speak to them.