We're Back...

Posted by John

First off, I feel I need to apologize for the rather sudden and inglorious end to the Fear and Loathing blog several months ago. I can assure it was never my explicit intent to stop posting to the blog; I simply ran out of time for it at the exact moment when I encountered the worst spell of writer’s block of my life. Fear and loath no more, we’re back.

Clearly the reincarnation of the blog has a new look, a new name, and hopefully some new funniness. My good friend Chris has graciously agreed to reprise his role as an occasional, timely, and topical blog poster as well. It is our intent that this blog will stand on its own but I can’t promise it won’t make reference to the old one from time to time.

One last administrative note to make our intentions clear: Fear and Loathing was an unprecedented diarrhea of posts, for better or worse. I’d like for this one to be more focused, more purposeful, and a bit more judicious. In short, my goal is to post two, maybe three times each week, rather than the 4 or 5 I aspired to for Fear and Loathing.

Actually, one last, last administrate note – I do want to recognize and thank all the people that acknowledged and praised the old blog and encouraged me to start up the new one. I really had no idea how many people were reading and, more importantly, enjoying it, and that really was the motivation I needed. I hope this new blog finds its way back to all those readers and on to many more.

So with that out of the way…

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I fucking hate small talk. Partly because I’m horrible at it and partly because there is no purpose for it. Small talk exists solely to fill the awkward void between meaningful human interactions; the same awkward void that I am oh so comfortable wallowing in for all of time.

Part of the biggest problem with small talk is that every person on the planet thinks they’re a goddamn comedian and small talk is their ticket to trying out all their new material. I’ll admit I’m the same way. If I’m forced to interact with people through single serving little sound bites, I want to leave them with the most memorable, pants-shitting, hilarious sound bites I possibly can. The problem is, 98% of the population, myself included, lack the necessary wit and quick-on-your-feet thinking to actually come up with interesting, funny, memorable things to say.

You hear this shit all the time:

Douchebag 1: “Man, it’s really raining cats and dogs out there. I almost had to dust off my galoshes just to walk across the parking lot. Hahahahaha!”

Douchebag 2: (Awkward, insincere chuckle) “Heheheheheh! I know what you mean. And all the idiots on the road who don’t know how to drive in the rain, it’s like ‘Hello! Are you blind??? ’ Hahahahaha!”

DB1: (Awkward, insincere chuckle) “Hehehehehe! I know what you mean…”

Awk……..ward……….si………lence……

DB2: “Did you catch that ballgame last night? I swear, it’s like those referees were blind. Like, ‘Hello! Are you blind??? Hahahahahaha!”

For fuck sake, just shut your mouth. We’ll all be better for it.

I recognize small talk will never go away and lest I aspire to become a complete asshole, rather than the partial asshole I currently am, I still need to participate in this godforsaken pastime. It’s partly that reason, and partly my own insatiable desire to always have something funny to say that has led me to develop an arsenal of standard, canned, one-liners that I now use almost exclusively to communicate with people at work. For instance, a few weeks ago whenever someone would ask me how I was doing on a Friday, I’d say, “Just workin' for the weekend!”

That’s funny because 1) it’s true; 2) it’s a horrible Loverboy song from the 80’s; and 3) I deliver the line with so much fake gusto it’s disgusting.

It didn’t take long for me to start using the same line on Thursday, then Wednesday, then Tuesday. Shit, now I say it first thing on Monday morning.

DB1: “Hey man, how are you doing this Monday morning?”

Me: “Just workin’ for the weekend!!!”

I realize that I’m really the only one that finds this funny, and really only because it’s true. Which, if I stop to think about it, not only is it just true, it’s fucking depressing.

Anyway, my true disdain for small talk can really be summed up by this little gem of a story:

A few weeks ago on the Thursday before the 4^th of July, I was leaving work as I stepped on the elevator to head down to the lobby. There was already a girl on the elevator who I’ve worked with a few times before on some projects but who I would describe as nothing more than an office acquaintance, which is to say, the only non-project related interactions we've had existed in the awkward realm of small talk and were usually punctuated by an absolutely idiotic statement by me.

Elevator conversations are particularly awkward though because they will always only last for a few seconds before you reach your destination, so even small talk is damn near impossible, which is why I typically take my rides in awkward silence in lieu of awkward small talk.

Girl: “How’s it going?”

Me: “Oh, you know, just workin’ for the weekend! Hahahahaha!”

Girl: (Awkward, insincere chuckle) “Hehehehe. Yeah, I know what you mean. Do you have any plans for the 4^th?”

Me: Ah fuck! You asked me a question? Shit, I was totally not prepared for this. I literally have like 12 seconds to come up with something here. I can’t possibly answer this question then ask you the requisite follow up question and have you answer it too. Not to mention, the fucking pressure I’m under to come with something funny to say here! “Oh, not really. I’ll just be tiling my bathroom this weekend. Really looking forward to it!!”  Ah christ! What a stupid statement to make. Who gives a flying fuck about your stupid bathroom tiling project. Nobody, that's who! “How about you?”

*Ding!*

The elevator doors slid open and that was it, the end of our conversation because I always let the other elevator passengers get off first so I can linger slowly and awkwardly behind so the conversation can’t possibly continue any longer to give me any more opportunity to say something idiotic.

Except this conversation was not over because we were the only two on the elevator so she lingered in the lobby awkwardly waiting for me as I lingered in the elevator awkwardly, no doubt wondering why I was lingering in the elevator awkwardly. Finally I just had to step out before the fucking doors shut in my face.

Girl: “My boyfriend and I are heading up to a lake house in Minnesota with some friends of his...”

At that point we were walking across the building lobby towards the revolving exit door. While this little additional real estate afforded us the opportunity to continue our conversation, it was also setting me up for more epic failure because it was inevitable I couldn’t possibly think of something funny and/or memorable to say before we reached the doors.

Me: “That sounds like an awesome time.” Fuck me, now what do I say? Come on brain, think! Think damnit! “Uh… what will you guys be doing there?” Ah shit! You are a fucking moron! What are you thinking asking another question??? You are literally 15 steps from the door; you should have just let the conversation die an awkward death so you could spare her the torture of any further conversation with you!

Girl: “Oh, you know, probably ride some jet skis, drink some beer, shoot off some fireworks…”

At that point we reached the revolving door and while the conversation was not over, it was inevitable it had to die and I had to do the killing. Unfortunately, somewhere deep in my cerebral cortex I developed that godforsaken necessity to come up with some funny, witty sound bite to leave her with. But more unfortunately, rather than coming up with something that was actually witty and funny, my brain decided to come up with, “Well, be sure to wear eye protection!”

Oh, believe me, I recognize now how horribly awkward and idiotic that statement was. For some fucking reason she mentions fireworks and I decided to retort with a fucking Surgeon General’s safety warning. God, I am such a douche!

So you can imagine how awkward it would have been had I actually delivered that line. But I didn’t. In fact, my traitorous fucking idiotic mouth betrayed my fucking idiotic brain, so instead of saying, “Well, be sure to wear eye protection!” I said, “Well, be sure to wear protection!”

Fuck. Me.

Be sure to wear protection? BE SURE TO WEAR PROTECTION??? How the fuck, in the worst possible case scenario, do those fucking words come out of my mouth? How???

Worse than actually uttering those words was the fact that as I started to say it, she entered the revolving door so just as the last “n” sound exited my mouth, the rubber seal on the revolving door made contact with the outer shell. So literally as she was walking around through the door, trapped in the nebulous of revolving door never-never-land, she turned back with a look on her face like someone had just farted in her mouth, like she was wondering if her ears had deceived her or if I had actually just said, “Be sure to wear protection.”

Meanwhile the look on my face was like someone had just dropped a turd in my mouth. I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to immediately correct my mistake but how could I??? I dove into the next pocket of the revolving door but as soon as she was free she took off for her boyfriend’s truck that was awaiting her at the curb, never looking back. What was I going to do? Yell after her, “Wait! Wait! I didn’t mean ‘be sure to wear protection!’ I meant, ‘be sure to wear eye protection!’ EYE PROTECTION!!!”

I fucking hate small talk.

I don’t think I’ve spoken to her since then, but as far as I know she’s not pregnant and she has both of her eyeballs still, so maybe she heeded my advice. Whatever.