“I had a roll of non sequiturs in my pockets and I was just tossing them out across the water trying to get a good skip going.” (Colson Whitehead, Sag Harbor)

‘That sandwich looks like it’s calling out for some banana peppers…’ I said with a smile, an exchange meant in the spirit of lighthearted banter, the kind that reminds us that while we share space in this world, why not be friendly.  I was new to Los Angeles, standing in a deli and the consecutive days of sunshine had put me in a particularly relaxed mood.  I miscalculated. I was met with a stare as if I had just asked, ‘Is that your zebra double-parked out front?’

Maybe it was a New Jersey thing I was accustomed to; people in the Garden State, although reputationally known for not suffering fools, are generally a friendly bunch. The manicured houses of suburbia seemed to suggest that everyone preferred a little privacy, but at the corner market, people seemed to enjoy being part of a community.  Apparently, I had mistaken that for a nationwide custom.  In L.A., as I had learned during my time in Paris, strangers weren’t necessarily waiting for an invitation to chat.

I remember as a child, small talk would fill the air like the clatter of dishes in a diner. Running an errand with my father was usually a source of juvenile impatience; he’d inevitably stop to chat with a familiar face who happened to cross our path. When you’re young, you’d rather hide. Anything that cuts into your time getting to the variety store for that one item you’d been eyeing feels like a nuisance. 

Then there’s small talk at company functions and business events, where conversation seems to come with a bench mark script. ‘So, what do you do?‘ is usually the opening line, followed by whatever polite nodding is required while you pretend to be fascinated by the answer. But what if, instead, you looked across the room at the stranger heading your way in the tweed jacket and asked something completely unexpected … ‘What’s the best bad decision you ever made?‘  It can go either way.  Mr. Tweed Jacket could politely excuse himself as he must say goodbye to an associate who is leaving, or his face may light up like a Christmas tree, excited that someone has finally tapped the part of him that has something more interesting to say.

I used to engage in small talk more often, or at least I used to be more naturally sociable. Somewhere along the way, I lost the patience for it. Why? And what happened in between? Have we become too tired by a daily grind, too divided by our beliefs, or too disinterested in the small pleasantries that can make life feel a bit bouncier?  Has it become too much work?  Maybe we’ve become cogs in the wheel, and who has time to hear about your chicken salad recommendations when there are other things to do?

I want the world to feel good again. To feel friendlier. To include more smiles than chances of becoming a Karen on the “She’s a Karen” TikTok page.

Maybe what the world needs is a little less suspicion and a little more hello.