For the Love of Conversation, Give Me Something 🧺

I am actually pretty good at small talk. There, I said it. I can talk to strangers, chat with coworkers, make conversation with the person standing next to me in line at the store, and somehow find something to say to just about anybody. Weather? Sure. Weekend plans? Absolutely. Traffic? I can make that work. I can take whatever random little topic is floating around and turn it into an actual conversation. Small talk doesn't bother me.

What does bother me is trying to have small talk with someone who apparently did not receive the memo that small talk is supposed to be a two-person activity.

You know the type. You walk up and say, “Hey! How was your weekend?” They say, “Good.” That's it. Just good. No follow-up. No additional information. No conversational breadcrumbs. Nothing. So you try again. “Do anything fun?” “Nope.” Oh. Okay. Now I'm doing all the work.

At this point, I have apparently become the host of a talk show that nobody agreed to appear on. I start throwing out topics like I'm desperately trying to keep a radio station on the air. “Did you watch anything good?” “No.” “Go anywhere?” “No.” “Do anything?” “No.” Well, did you at least eat? Because I'm running out of material over here.

I understand that not everyone is naturally chatty. Some people are quieter. Some people are shy. Some people simply don't enjoy talking very much. That's perfectly fine. But there is a difference between being quiet and participating in a conversation like you're being held hostage.

Small talk isn't supposed to be an interrogation. It is supposed to be a little conversational tennis match. I throw you the ball, you hit it back, and maybe you throw it back to me. That's how this works. But some people apparently think I've signed up for singles and doubles simultaneously.

I'll ask, “How was your vacation?” They say, “Fine.” “What was your favorite part?” “Beach.” “Nice! Did you stay somewhere you liked?” “Yeah.” At this point, I'm wondering if I should start charging admission because I have apparently purchased the entire conversation myself.

And here's the thing: I don't even need you to be wildly entertaining. You don't have to tell me your deepest secrets. You don't have to suddenly become a professional storyteller. Just give me something. Anything.

If I ask how your weekend was and you say, “Good,” you could add, “We went out to dinner Saturday.” Boom. Now I have something. “Where did you go?” “There's this new place downtown.” “What kind of food?” “Mexican.” See how easy that was? Nobody had to give a TED Talk. Nobody had to reveal their childhood trauma. We simply passed the conversational ball back and forth like civilized humans.

That's what makes these interactions so funny. You can actually feel yourself trying to rescue the conversation. You start giving more information than anyone asked for. “Oh, you didn't do anything this weekend? I didn't either, really. Well, I did laundry, and then I went to the store, and while I was there I saw this woman who had the exact same shirt as me, which was weird because it wasn't even a particularly common shirt…”

And suddenly you're telling a complete stranger the history of your laundry.

Because apparently this is where we've arrived.

You can also tell when the other person isn't going to help you. There is a moment when you realize, “Ohhh. I see what's happening here.” This person is not going to pick up the conversational ball. They are going to stand there. And I am going to keep throwing it. And throwing it. And throwing it.

Eventually, even the most socially determined person has to say, “Well, this has been fascinating,” and make their escape.

The irony is that I actually like people who don't talk constantly. I don't need every moment filled with noise. Quiet people can be wonderful. Some of the best conversations I've ever had have been with people who don't say much at first.

But there's a difference between being quiet and making someone else do all the conversational heavy lifting.

If we're going to have small talk, let's have small talk. Give me a little something to work with. Tell me your dog ate your shoe. Tell me your neighbor is driving you crazy. Tell me you discovered the best sandwich you've ever eaten. Tell me you spent Saturday reorganizing your entire kitchen for absolutely no reason.

I will work with any of it.

In fact, give me something weird and we're probably going to become best friends by lunchtime.

But if every question I ask gets answered with one word, eventually I'm going to run out of conversational oxygen. And when that happens, I have two choices. I can continue trying to drag this conversation uphill like a broken-down car, or I can accept defeat.

Because small talk is supposed to be small. It should not require a rescue operation.

So, to all my fellow people who are perfectly capable of making conversation: I see you.

And to the people who answer every question with “fine,” “good,” “nope,” or “yeah”…

I have one question for you. Are you going to help me out here?

Because I am running out of questions. And frankly, I've already told you way too much about my laundry.