Please understand, dear listener, that what follows is not mean-spirited. Quite the contrary!
What follows is my best effort to better understand why we make small talk. I have selected two real-life examples of small talk to explore the question of why we make small talk. Both examples involve air travel. I’m afraid that neither example gets me very far in my quest for understanding why we make small talk, but I’ll share them with you, anyway.
In order to appreciate the context of my musings on small talk, you should know that I taught French at Notre Dame for 25 years and I am now retired. 25 years of teaching French and seven years of retirement are like lighter fluid on the bonfire of small talk. Teaching at Notre Dame is like the hot coals at the base of the bonfire of small talk. It’s my conviction that all three of these topics are irresistible to the average small talker
Airplanes are ideal venues for small talk, nothing like a captive audience strapped into the seat next to you. I’m pretty sure that I haven’t taken an airplane anywhere without the passenger in the neighboring seat feeling like a thorough review of his or her academic transcript is called for in order to let me know how many years of French would appear on said transcript. On an airplane, the small talk usually unfolds like this (for the purposes of this essay, I’ll call the small talker Fred):
ME: Excuse me, sir. I have the window seat. Do you mind if I squeeze by?
FRED: I hate getting stuck with the center seat, but no worries. Go right ahead.
ME: Thank you, sir.
Once I’m seated, I take out a book and begin reading not so much to prevent small talk, because Fred ,is determined… after countless sideways glances and, later, a well-timed sharp elbow to my left arm after asking, “So what’cha reading?” Reading just makes the flight go by more quickly. Small talk does not make the flight go by more quickly.
FRED: So, what do you do for a living?
ME: I’m retired but I taught French at Notre Dame for 25 years.
FRED: French????!!! I took one year of high school French and can’t remember a thing. French is so hard. I think I could probably count to ten. I decided to take Spanish instead. A WHOLE lot more useful here (there’s the elbow to my left arm), let me tell you!
ME: Yes, but you learn a foreign language so that you can use it in another country...
FRED: …I can definitely count to ten in Spanish, and wait a minute. You taught French at Notre Dame??? Go Irish. They gonna win a national championship anytime soon? (another sharp elbow to my left arm).
ME: Actually, the women’s soccer team has won…
FRED: I’m talking about the football team.
There you have it, not even a minute of small talk and I already hate Fred.
I once had a relatively lengthy exchange of small talk that I endured in London’s Heathrow Airport that still makes me tremble in fear. The year was 1988. I was flying from London to Paris, and arrived at the airport at about 5:00 am so that I wouldn’t miss my 10:00 am flight. There was only one other passenger there at 5:00 am. He was probably in his early 20s, scruffy and anxious, and he was sitting on a duffle bag. I was sitting in a chair at the departure gate. He looked me over but said nothing. About two pages into my book, I heard him ask me what time it was. I lowered my book and looked at my watch, “5:15,” I said. His next words were surprising . . . he told me that he had robbed a post office five years ago and had just got out of prison. Usually small talk between two guys is about sports or the weather, not prison (a topic that I have no experience with, I should add).
His small talk continued when he explained that he didn’t use a gun when he robbed the Post Office. He then justified his robbery by pointing out that he robbed the post office because he needed a new watch (the irony of this need of a watch was not lost on me). Clearly, he still needed a new watch or he wouldn’t have started small talk.
Come to think of it, he never told me how much French he took.
Music: "What a Wonderful World" by Sam Cooke
