Looking Up at the Sky

I’ve come across people in my life who don’t like to talk about the weather. I came across one the other week who said something along the lines of, ‘what’s the point? It’s bloody obvious what the weather is.’

A lot of small talk is like that: discussing the obvious. It’s taken me over twenty years to discover why.

(And now, a disclaimer! I think what I’m talking about is small talk. I’ve never met anyone who can define and explain what small talk exactly is to me. All the stuff I’m about to talk about I’ve pieced together through careful observation and trail and error over the last decade.)

See, a lot of people will probably think this whole post is silly and not worth saying. But I was never properly socialised as a child. I never learnt the unwritten rules of society, how to interact with people, what should be said, when and how. I was in my early twenties before I realised that when someone you kind of know passes you on the street or where ever and says, ‘Alright?’ the correct response is simply, ‘yeah, alright?’ They’re not asking how you are, if everything is all right with you. It’s simply a way of saying, ‘I recognise you and acknowledge your existence’.

It’s only now, at the age of 32, I’m beginning to understand the purpose and rules of small talk. At least I think I am.

As far as I can tell, it has two purposes:

1. To find common ground with a stranger;
2. To create a relaxed and friendly atmosphere.

The second one is easier to explain: thought follows action. If you’re sharing a space with someone–a lift, a meeting room, a kitchen–then you don’t want to be stuck in a horrible and awkward silence. In order for the conversation to work, you both have to put on the face of someone who’s relaxed and cheerful and because that’s the way you’re acting, you both walk away feeling relaxed and cheerful. It makes for a more pleasant atmosphere, and the atmosphere affects all those who breathe it in. That’s why it’s important in spaces you spend a lot of time in, with people you may not have anything in common with–places like work.  (It’s also an entirely socially-constructed necessity, but that doesn’t mean we can escape it.)

Now, back to number one: common ground with a stranger. When you meet someone for the very first time and you don’t even know what their name is, the weather is fucking fantastic. It’s the one thing you can pretty much guarantee you both have in common!

No matter how bad the weather is, it’s better than no weather at all. Or the weather on Venus. That’s a planet where the phrase ‘acid rain’ means something.

More than that, it’s something that opens up huge numbers of potential gateways. After all, the weather is always with us and affects pretty much every part of our lives. So, it’s potentially an opportunity to talk about any part of our lives.

For example:

Person A: “It’s really coming down out there.”
Translation: Do you want to have a conversation?
Person B: “Yeah. Not much fun for us but I guess the garden’s grateful.”
Translation: Okay. I have a garden. Do you have any interest in anything garden related? You know, plants or growing things or dirt or weeding? Any garden-related anecdotes? How about something to do with having fun in the rain?

Or:

Person A: “It’s really coming down out there.”
Translation: Do you want to have a conversation?
Person B: “Yeah, but you know there’ll still be a hosepipe ban.”
Translation: Okay. Water companies suck, amiright? Well, big companies in general. Do you agree? What about the government? Any big organisation? And, you know, isn’t it annoying how all this arbitrary rules seem to govern our lives? Do you have any anecdotes about water or arbitrary rules?

Conversations like these are a game. The idea is to open up as many potential gateways in your answers, and spot the potential gateways in your partner’s.

For example, Person B offers three gateways in the first example: Fun; Gardens; and Being Grateful. Person A can respond on any of the offered topics, getting extra points for keeping it relevant to what’s passed so far in the conversation.

So, in the first example, Person A might say:
“Yeah, my parent’s garden was looking pretty tired when I went round there the other day. My dad’ll be grateful he doesn’t have to water the flowers.”

Now, Person A’s done something interesting here. Why talk about his parent’s garden, and not his own? And why was he round there the other day? And he opens more gateways: Parents; Visiting Parents and/or Relatives; Garden Care; Flowers; Division of Labour Between Parents.

Person B can now pick up on one of the questions, or follow another gateway. This where Person A and Person B start to find out a little more about each other. For example, Person B might enquire why Person A mentioned his parent’s garden and not his own, and Person A might tell him that he’s just moved into a new flat and it doesn’t have a garden. Or Person A might say he was helping his dad to fix his car. Maybe Person B also does a bit of car maintenance and voilà! Common ground!

Someone skilled in the art of conversation will have the ability to open gateways in their half of the conversation and pick up in the gateways in the other person’s without even thinking about it. It’ll be instinctual.

Me? Well, I feel the need to make an entire blog post out of it. I can’t do this kind of thing on the fly any more than I could juggle flaming torches riding a alligator-powered unicycle.

And I don’t like it. Playing this game makes me uncomfortable and want to retreat somewhere deep, deep inside myself where the outside world is little more than a badly-rendered special effect. I have absolutely no natural talent for it and, as a child, was forced to play it again and again and again. Anyone with no natural talent for sport who had to endure weekly P.E. lessons and sports days every year knows how I feel. It is any fun to play rugby when your overwhelming memories of it are being ten years old, not knowing the rules and having people beat the crap out of your at, as far as you can tell, entirely random points? And lets also imagine it was cold and raining and muddy and the P.E. teacher was a sadist who’d stand and watch you in the showers, because it’s my analogy and if you’re going to do something you might as well go all the way.

And there he is, the fullback.  Look at his face.  Look at it.  He wants you to tackle him.  He needs it. Driving your face into the mud is the only time he feels alive.

The sod of it is that the game’s even harder than I’ve made it sound. As Jo recently pointed out, the words are only a part of it. You’ve got to judge tone of voice, body language, facial expressions. You’ve got to know what’s appropriate to say under what circumstances. And these aren’t things you can learn by route, because every individual and every circumstance is different. And that sucks, because the two ways I learn best are route learning and writing things out, both of which are of very limited use here.

Still, regardless of how I feel about myself I’m in a human body and in human society, and so this game is one I have to learn. And I have to want to learn, and want to be good at it.

One step at at time, Foxie. I know the game has rules now and I want to want to be good at it. I mean, social contact is awesome and other people are awesome. I want to want to let them into my life and increase the amount of awesome in it. It’s just going to take a little time to break the habits of a lifetime.

So I guess this post has two purposes: for those who find the whole idea of small talk bewildering and pointless, don’t give up! There is a set of rules under the chaos and so there is hope! And for those who’ve tried to have a conversation with me only to find it dying quicker than Stormtrooper against named cast members, it’s probably my fault and it’s not because I don’t like you, it’s because I’m crap at this game. But I’ve not given up and, maybe, I’m even making some progress.

So… how about this weather, huh?

Images:
Venetian weather taken from the Astrium internet site, and copyright to the ESA, which I think in this case stands for the European Space Agency.
The scary fullback is Arnold Schwarzenegger in the 1987 film Predator.  But you knew that.