_Kennedy Horton is a sophomore at MU studying English. She is an opinion columnist who writes about student life, social justice and being an introvert for The Maneater._
You have a seven-hour bus ride back to campus and have made yourself a walking target. You brought no protection. You have no headphones, no book and no computer. Nothing. And it never even dawned on you to fake being asleep until it was too late, until you heard that daunting question, trapping you in a prison of human interaction, “Where are you from?”
And now you’re smack in the middle of the dreaded “small talk,” which is the bane of an introverted existence. It’s annoying, it’s mundane, and it’s almost always the last thing I want to be doing: partaking in an unwanted, usually forced conversation filled with useless details about a person you’ll never see again.
As it turns out, there is no safe answer to “where are you from?” Whether from a big city or a small town, either response is sure to leave one tied up in an unnecessary exchange.
If you tell your verbal executioner you’re from a big city like Atlanta, Chicago, Dallas or New York, you’re dead. There’s an incredible chance that your captor knows someone from that city and is simply dying to tell you about them.
You are now the victim of a seemingly endless speech, in which you learn about someone’s aunt, uncle, cousin, grandmother, best friend, whichever irrelevant family member they choose or — my personal favorite — my college roommate’s old boyfriend’s new girlfriend. Anguishing, I know.
During this speech, you are obviously not listening. You are envisioning ways to off either yourself or the speaker/captor. But you’re no brute. You give an “oh” or “ah” or “mhmm” here and there. This is actually an excellent conversation tactic, as you will give the appearance of paying attention, when you are in fact mentally strangling your torturer.
If you tell your opponent you live in a small town, it will be just as bad. If your abductor has never heard of it, which they probably haven’t, here’s what happens next: Their curiosity is piqued. Suddenly, you are bombarded with the question: “Ooo, I’ve never heard of that! What’s it like there?”
You repeat this inquiry to yourself, rolling it around in your head trying to decide whether this is the dumbest assassin you’ve ever met or if they’re just as sadistic as you. It’s not like anything is there. There’s a Walmart and a Waffle House, both of which you avoid. It’s a small town — there is no big arch or a mall with rollercoasters or a green lady with an exhausted arm. Not even close.
At this point, you only have one strategy left. With your attacker fully engrossed, you utter a reassuring, “It’s fine.” Such an ordinary answer shatters their will to engage with you, and you can see it. Their pupils shrink back to normal size as they sink back into their seat. They release a final, “Oh, that’s nice.” The most generous of statements, as it requires nothing at all in return.
Small talk is a treacherous road, but you can make it out unscathed. It is certainly not easy to claw your way out of unwanted dialogue, but it is doable. Try to avoid it next time by being prepared. Arrive at your local public transportation with your headphones already on and all electronics fully charged. Don’t make that mistake of seeming available. Humans pounce, always hungry for conversation to distract themselves from their own terrible lives.
