Dog Talk and Other Trivial Things In Which I Find Myself Participating

Small Talk. Just the phrase gives me anxiety. The blatant waste of time, intelligence, and self dignity just to feel more comfortable near the person you're stuck with in the elevator, neighboring bathroom stall, on line at the drug store, etc. Perhaps you've experienced the bountiful joy of working in retail or hosting at a restaurant where you are paid to spend six hours engaging in and striking up small talk.

Some of my favorites:

Dog Talk--So you have a dog. I don't, but I'm aware of dogs. I know enough to get by in the conversation. Because actually, this isn't really a conversation at all. You are talking at me about your rhodesian-pug-poo's latest romp through the neighbor's trash. Not cute, not funny, this conversation is officially utterly boring. Even though I've, for some reason, felt the need to bring up my childhood dog and continue marinating in the ennui of this conversation. Ed did this, Ed did that, Ed's the best. "Who's Ed?" I ask...oh, it's your dog, again, you're talking about your dog. Please let me go. (Also applies to people who revert to baby talk when speaking of or at their cat, hamster, or parrot, ARR!)

The Weather--Wait. I'm not blind! I can SEE! For the love of God, the world is clear! So approaching me with, 'beautiful day out yeah?' is almost grounds for a fist-fight. Perhaps I were blind. Perhaps I am colorblind and the sky always looks gray. I could be a manic-depressive who dwells in storms and lightning strikes. Thus making this 'beautiful day,' ugly to me or the same as every other day. Do you need clarification? Are you unsure if the day's beautiful? Is it sort of but not really? Are you longing for some sort of common human bond based on the weather outside? Well, to get out of this, I have to say yes, despite what I think because apparently you've failed to recognize the alternatives. Oh, it's supposed to rain tomorrow? What are you, some kind of Weather Channel Robot? Did you memorize the 7-day forecast so you can talk confidently to random people? Am I supposed to go, "Oh really? That's too bad," Is it bad? Is it? It's the weather and it changes and there's nothing you can do about it. Quit acting like you created this glorious day for all of us, you bastard! Try a pick up game of baseball for a more productive sense of camaraderie with your fellow man.

I really like that! Thanks. Although, I say this too sometimes. I say it when I really don't like something as well. Because it is socially unacceptable to say 'Good GOD! What the fuck are you wearing?!' I'll smile and say 'Wow, I really like your pants,' because I have to say something about them, I just can't keep quiet on the matter. But suppose you really do like that hat, scarf, balaclava, fake tooth. Your smug smile after announcing it shows that perhaps that was your charitable act of the day. At home, you will, before drifting off to a saintly sleep, congratulate yourself on being so selfless, so nice to that clerk at the new age store. You're just great. Keep it up. Oh, and then there's the people who make a whole big to-do about the thing. You like that! You have something just like that! Your grandmother gave it to you right before she rocked back too hard in her rocking chair and feel out her 3rd story bay window! Your grandmother was crazy! She was also a drunk! Maybe you're a drunk too! Maybe you need help! Maybe you should have stopped talking after "Here's your change, have a good day."

Politics. Ok, now wait. Small talk is supposed to be self-explanatory. It's talk about small, insignificant things. Who said you could talk politics to me while waiting for the bus? Why would you think I care? Please don't show me your Obama tattoo. Did you just tell me a statistic? Are you quoting things? Now wait. Wait just a minute. What do you do again? You work at TCBY? The fro-yo store that went out of business three years ago? You're high on PCP? Ok Mr-I-read-half-a-Wikipedia-article-on-Obama-and-now-I'm-more-educated-than-you. Just because you know about the same amount as our politicians doesn't exactly make you one. Let me off of your crazy-train of political misunderstandings. This is a bus-stop, after all. (Also applies to issues of religion, race, sexual orientation, abortion, or anything that you could get you potentially killed, or at the very least stabbed with the refill of a mechanical pencil, at any given intersection in Santa Ana.

Where are you from? Sensing an accent are we? Picking up a little telepathy of snow and hailstorms? Alaska maybe? The Arctic? BOSTON! Ah, you were close. Well, you have a fourth cousin who lives in Boston. Surely this random person knows him. What's his name again? Something McDonald. McDonald! Know anyone with the last name McDonald? Oh, well you're worthless to me. Unless I can remember anyone I've ever met being from Boston. First and last names would be a great help. Scottie? Was there a Scottie? SCOTTIE DOUGLAS! You just yelled that at the poor woman, but who cares! She could know someone you know! Wouldn't that be INSANE?! No, she doesn't know him. Who is this stupid bitch and why doesn't she know anyone from Boston? Wait, wait! You went there once. Yes, yes, you were three and a half and your mother got you frozen yogurt...if only you could remember the street? That frozen yogurt place by that statue? Kind of by the highway? There was a school nearby and dogs...she, naturally doesn't know (this woman is a moron). She starts guessing....no, no, wait a minute. That sounds right! That must be the frozen yogurt place! And if not, you feel better making some sort of connection with this poor woman who will say anything to get you to stop badgering her. Her finger is poised in her coat pocket ready to dial 9. Dude, you're a psycho; Boston isn't an Amish village with a pop. of 48.

Did you See American Idol Last Night? No. Actually, I'm a junkie and I sold my television some four months ago for dope. Or I live in poverty. Or I'm not a complete moron. Or I don't care what judge was drunk and who's an asshole and why you think it's so amazing that YOU have the power to CHOOSE America's next CELEBRITY! Newsflash; buy an mp3 of a song you like. It is ultimately the same thing, without the voluntary loss of your brain cells or the staggeringly expensive phone bill with all of those text update on what dumb-fuck-pinstripe-beret-wearing-girl-voice-loser is doing backstage RIGHT NOW! Or at least, don't drag me into it. I try hard enough to avoid that show.

Wait, I now have to urge to gauge out my eyeballs with a computer key (which seems both difficult and enticing). How about talking about something interesting? Have nothing interesting to say? Well then how about keeping your mouth shut instead of contributing to the intelligent decline of humanity.