Small talk. What *is* the point? You’re in an elevator, or waiting for a coffee, and suddenly, you’re thrust into this impromptu, unscripted play. ‘So, the weather, huh?’ Yes, the weather. It exists. It’s happening. And now we’ve established that we both know it. What’s next? Your deep thoughts on humidity? My passionate monologue about the injustice of a cloudy Tuesday? It’s like we’re all in this involuntary improv class, forced to connect over the most mundane observations. We don’t *want* to be having this conversation! We’re just trying to get through the next minute or two without acknowledging the awkward silence. It’s a social obligation, an unwritten rule that we must pretend to be interested in each other’s casual observations. Why can’t we just… *exist*?
About the Author
