How’s the weather? How are the little ones? How’s your wife? Having fun yet? It’s going to rain. It’s going to snow. You can’t trust the weather around here. Are you from here? Why aren’t your from here. Do you live here? You live here, you have to like the Colts. You live here, you have to like the Pacers. You live here, you have to like racing.
Do I have to like meth, chewing tobacco, domestic violence, weird goatees and country music too? Truth is, I don’t. I don’t have to like any of those things. And, I definitely don’t have to like small talk. What is small talk? Small talk happens, when two or more grown humans are near each other in the same place. One human may be quiet. Maybe she or he is watching hers or his own private picture show. Maybe one of those humans chooses to not speak the majority language. But there is always one human. At least one.
This human is so horrified that the silence around them will force them to think their own thoughts. They are so uncomfortable with this that they blurt the first stupid thing that shoots into their dumb human brains. Nine times out of 10, it’s about the weather. There has only been a handful of times in my life that I was truly surprised by the weather. One being the Super Bowl this year when I was galavanting around downtown Indy, in a Cutler jersey, rocking out to DJ Jazzy Jeff. Other than that, In the winter it will probably be cold, in the summer it will probably be hot, sometimes it will rain, sometimes it will snow. End of story.
“How’s the weather?” The dumb human asks the quiet polite human. He looks at her. Looks at the other human. Looks back at her. Looks out the window.
“We are both just outside, you fucking renob!” The polite human points out. “Why are you asking me how the weather is when we are in it? It surrounds us. If you don’t know the answer to that question, then I’m sorry, but my two year old is smarter than you. If something is hot, he says it’s hot. He doesn’t touch it and go, damn, dad. That was hot, but was it hot? I’m not sure. Can you please reaffirm that it is hot, even though I know it’s hot. I just want everyone else to know that my vocal chords work so please just tell me that it’s hot dad. I want to be noticed. Is it hot? Fuck!” The polite human so politely stated.
“I was just trying to start a conversation.” The dumb human remarks.
“A conversation? You were merely farting out of your mouth. A conversation would be to discuss the approaching expiration of the Bush Tax Cuts. A conversation would be to discuss the Pittsburgh Pirates and whether or not they can continue to lead the division with only one bonafide hitter. We can discuss popular reuses for waste that is generally landfilled. Is there a god? Who killed Kurt Cobain? When will Ben Affleck get his due? These are conversations. You don’t care about my kids. I sure as hell don’t care about yours. I don’t like kids. I have to like the ones I already have, please don’t make me pretend to show an interest in yours. Your kids piss me off. And don’t make me answer questions about my wife. If she wanted to know you, she would. There is a reason she does not talk to you. I have the misfortune of being in the same place as you right now and cannot escape. She can. She is smarter than I am. And if you bring up your god damned sports team, that I have zero interest in, so help me god. Maybe there is a conversation there. Your sports team and why it will never compare to any sports team in Chicago. The end. Save me some trouble and sit back, take a deep breath and leave me the hell alone.”
Please to enjoy.