Small talk sucks. Ask me about fast-food rivalries, or why greyhounds are the best breed of dog, and I will chew your ear off. But ask me how I am and my brain will break on the spot. I’m one of those people who will ask you how you are multiple times because I get stuck in a feedback loop of, “Good thanks, how are you?” forever and ever until the universe unravels and I’m sucked into a black expanse of nothingness (which is preferable to talking about how I am).

Exchanging pleasantries with strangers is the pits. Even if I want to talk to someone, I’ll end up freezing because every question I think to ask is just so wrong. “What do you do?” People don’t have to do anything, get off their back! “Where do you work?” A person is not defined by their employer, for fuck’s sake. It’s 2021! “Tell me about yourself.” What is this, a psychology appointment? “Do you have kids?” Uh oh, they might be unable to have kids, you heartless idiot! “What makes you happy?” NOT TALKING TO YOU, EMILY! I’ll spiral before I’ve even learnt their name.

Because my brain turns to a fog, and I forget all my hobbies and interests when engaging in small talk, my usual response is to ask the other person questions – lots of questions. You might feel like you’re a contestant on The Chase when you talk to me at a social function, and for that I apologise, but it’s the only way I can cope. And no, there is no cash prize at the end, but I am now rich in the knowledge of your children’s breakfast habits and family pets through the years.

Sometimes small talk can come in the way of compliments. But even then, I find a way to make it awkward. “I love your dress, Emily!” “Oh, thanks, it’s actually really crappy because the material is cheap and the hem is falling down and oh yeah, I found it in a dumpster, so it’s basically the worst dress ever.” Accept the goddamn compliment and say you like their bag, you absolute fool!

I’ve struggled to make polite conversation ever since I was a child. I remember wanting to play with the cool kids on our street, but instead of introducing myself and asking to play (or just barrelling up with a cricket bat and joining in like most kids do), I stood in our front garden, watching them with a fishing net over my head so they wouldn’t know I was there (because obviously thin orange mesh renders you invisible). 

The bright side of the crushing global pandemic is that it’s taken away opportunities for meaningless chit-chat. I haven’t had to engage with too many strangers lately – except when I see birds on my walk and I mutter, “Hello magpie, you having a good day?” This is completely fine and normal because no one can see my mouth move behind my mask.

The downside of this COVID-19 shitshow is that it’s made video-call small talk a thing. Not only do you have to engage in idle conversation with random clients or acquaintances, you have to do so while having literally nothing interesting to say due to various lockdowns and restrictions. “I’m great, actually! I lay motionless on the kitchen floor for three hours today!”

Some people just aren’t blessed with the ability to yak on and on. I’ve accepted that I am one of them. So if you see someone at a social function with an orange fishing net over her head, please offer her a party pie and chat to her about dogs. Just don’t ask her how she is.

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