Most talk is small talk — too small

While I prefer not to be around humans very often, I actually don't mind them as much when they are a large group of strangers. In fact, if you get a bunch of like-minded strangers together — such as a bunch of Parrotheads at a Jimmy Buffett concert — you know you're probably going to be able to get along with these folks.

“Hey, nice giant foam parrot on your head,” you can say to a complete stranger and then move on, never to see each other ever again as you disappear into a giant mass of mostly mildly overweight humans in tropical shirts and fake grass skirts.

I don't even consider delivering a line like that to be small talk. I know we're not going to do a “stop and chat” as Larry David so famously likes to avoid in “Curb Your Enthusiasm.”

Of course, sometimes in a crowd of strangers, you find yourself forced to engage in a little small talk or stop and chat. If you're in Detroit and you pass a guy wearing a t-shirt from a little greasy spoon joint like Troy's Snack Shack where I grew up, you have to ask what's up.

“Hey, I've eaten there a million times,” I'll say.

“I can see that,” they'll respond. “What brings you to Detroit?”

“I dunno. Some guy in a foam hat at a Buffett concert down in Atlanta handed me a special margarita and I woke up here.”

Making small talk with folks I know — or am supposed to know — is tougher for me. Over the past couple of months, I seem to have found myself in way too many of those situations.

I'll be at some gathering — work-related, family-related or whatever — and somebody will introduce me to a person that they think I'll really enjoy talking to. That right there makes me suspicious about how well this conversation will turn out. It's like when one of my old executive editors at the Ledger-Enquirer used to preface telling a joke with, “I'm gonna tell a joke. This is funny.”

Um, great. C'mon, Chris — get your fake laugh ready. You may need a raise next month.

“Ha ha! Well, yes, I am glad you didn't say banana again! Ha ha! Excuse me, I gotta run out and move my car.”

“Didn't you walk to work today?”

“OK, then, I gotta move somebody else's car.”

“I think that's called vehicle theft.”

“Totally worth it.”

This past weekend I got cornered at an event by a fellow from up North — way up North. He was from one of those states I thought just kind of existed in theory. Chatting with folks from up North is problematic for me because they think I fit some Southern stereotype with a pickup truck, gun rack and rebel flag across the back. I do have a pickup truck, but my one shotgun doesn't need a rack. And the only flag I own is a pirate flag that hangs outside my grilling shack.

“So, you have a lot of problems with crocodiles down here,” he said as his conversation starter. “They are warm-water animals like snakes, right?”

I wanted to say: “Yes, crocodiles are a huge problem here. My nephew had his legs bitten off when he wandered too far out of the village and into the jungle last week. Fortunately, we all got the guns from our gun racks and killed the sucker.”

Instead, I just noted that we do have a few alligators here, and they're not really a problem. In fact, I kinda like them.

“If you'll excuse me for a second, I've got to go out and move my wife's car.”

“No, I just spoke to her, and she ran out to move her car.”

“Then I'll move someone else's car. May I borrow your keys?”

Connect with Chris Johnson at KudzuKid.com.

This story was originally published June 4, 2018 at 4:37 PM with the headline "Most talk is small talk — too small."