True Story©... Defensive Smalltalk
There’s some things that
kids these days will never have to grow to understand.
- Mexican brick-pack headache weed.
- Waiting next to a phone that you CAN NOT move from for
that lightskinned girl to never return your page.
- Daily driving a $500 bucket while PRAYING it doesn’t
inevitably do what a $500 bucket is bound to do.
… and, naturally… - … taking small
town public transit from the spot where your above-mentioned $500 bucket stranded you to
your place of employment.
That last one is where we start off today…
On the city bus in anytown
USA, size bedamned, you’re bound to encounter a ton of what one could refer to
as, umm… “Characters.” In the late 90s/early 00s, the ubiquitousness
of available digital media players was not NEAR what it is now. If you wanted to have some portable music,
you needed a small CD player and some EXPENSIVE-ass headphones. Needless to say, a dude who is only on the
bus because he cannot yet afford reliable transportation is not likely to be
able to afford luxuries such as music. I
was good if I had a book in my hands as I sat on the back of the bus.
[Phlip Note: spare me the Rosa Parks talk. The seats are bigger and more comfortable back there]
That said, I was FREQUENTLY captive audience to the above-named characters on the bus.
[Phlip Note: spare me the Rosa Parks talk. The seats are bigger and more comfortable back there]
That said, I was FREQUENTLY captive audience to the above-named characters on the bus.
With all that front of
mind, I have learned in my adult life to DETEST smalltalk.
Unless, of course, it is to be used for my own entertainment.
Unless, of course, it is to be used for my own entertainment.
As I eventually increased
my intake and could travel some, I learned that public transit in larger cities
was much better than my own city, itself the 66th largest in the United
States. Understanding that Google Maps
did not yet exist because there was no such thing as Google when it came to my little
Nokia 8265, it made more sense as an out-of-towner to learn to use the
bus/train systems in places like Atlanta and Vegas.
But as bad as the homelesses are (or were) in little Greensboro NC, the ones in legitimately large cities are comparatively EPIC. Locals know how to ignore that shit, and therefore can sniff out a visitor, if their non-regional dialect and clothing didn’t give it away.
But as bad as the homelesses are (or were) in little Greensboro NC, the ones in legitimately large cities are comparatively EPIC. Locals know how to ignore that shit, and therefore can sniff out a visitor, if their non-regional dialect and clothing didn’t give it away.
It would always start with
a “where ya from?” and devolve into a conversation that clearly demonstrates
that they were never told or didn’t internalize that North and South Carolina
are two different states. Next was
discussion of Andy Griffith, incredulousness at things like international
airports, indoor plumbing and actual CITIES instead of an interconnected series
of farms with pigs wandering into the dirt roads.
I say that to say that people who only know what they know are generally INFURIATING to have to talk to, especially when the conversation is unsolicited.
I say that to say that people who only know what they know are generally INFURIATING to have to talk to, especially when the conversation is unsolicited.
I developed a system…
Nowadays when I go out of town, ESPECIALLY to places like Vegas, I
ride the bus because it makes more sense especially for drinkers such as
myself. Since nearly nobody IN Vegas is
FROM Vegas, the “where you from?” is a normal conversation starter. The problem is that unless those people are
ALSO from NC, then the level of smalltalk that I have spent years growing to
hate usually still – yes, in 2020 people still don’t know a fucking thing –
comes up.
“Where
you guys from?”
Me: “North Carolina”
“Cool,
I have friends [or family] in Carolina.”
Me: “Yeah?
North or South Carolina?”
“Uhh… I just know it is in Beaufort.”
[Phlip note: there is a “Beaufort” in North AND South
Carolina. They are spelled the same,
pronounced differently and are six hours apart along the Atlantic coast]
Me: “That’s about 3 and a half hours from me.”
[Phlip note: fun with geography edition… Each is 3.5hr from me, because of where I live, but 6 from each other. I have told this man nothing.]
“Well
what do you do?”
… time to cut this
motherfucker loose…
Me: “I look around for open houses for
sale. I arrive early as possible and
strip down to my skivvies, slather my entire exposed body with butter and pose
on the kitchen island like a thanksgiving turkey.”
“Um… Wow.”
Me: “It’s crazy, really… This old white couple paid my rent for 8
months just to come by and do that in THEIR kitchen once a week this one time.“
“Are
you really being serious right now?”
Bear in mind, I have spent LITERALLY years perfecting my deadpan JUST
for moments like this. Needless to say,
they got the fuck off that bus and I would infer they chose to wait for the
next one.
That is but an example of
the shit I have unleashed on people to get them to stop talking to me. I have spouted off random facts about serial
killers, prattled on and on and on about James Bond (ß did that
rhyme?). OH, there was the time that
I got a wrong number call and the caller didn’t realize that I was not the
individual they thought they were calling.
Odd, because I have a distinctively weird voice to begin with.
Me: “Hello?”
“What’s
up dude?”
Me: “Coolin’ man, what’s good with you?”
“Shiid,
chilin’. Just got off work and trying to
see what’s on for the night.”
Me: “Still trying to decide.”
“Word? Between what and what?”
Me: “Well first I was reading about this midget
badminton tournament--…”
“… nigga WHAT?!!?”
Me: “oh, I’m sorry… ‘LITTLE PEOPLE’ badminton tournament, and--…”
“No,
wait--…”
Me: “…
yeah, so it was either the badminton tournament or we were gonna get up
with some chicks and--…”
“YEAH,
that’s what I’m on right there.”
Me: “Yeah, we were gonna get up with them and
conjugate some verbs, or maybe--…”
“Conjure
what!?”
Me: “Stop cutting me off, we was gon’ conjugate
some verbs or maybe play a game or three of backgammon and drink lukewarm
kombucha.”
“Wait… is this Solomon?”
Me: “Nah…
Moe Phillips, but you seemed so interest in what I had going on this
weekend and I was excited to share so--…”
This motherfucker hung up on me!
I’d have called him back if I was not so against talking on the damn
phone anyway. I really only answered
because I was bored.
Recently in the grocery
store, I was approached by a woman and asked about the mask I was wearing. My mother made it from Crown Royal bags as a
testament to the fact that I probably drink too much.
“Heh,
that mask is crazy.”
Me: “Thanks”
“You
made it?”
Me: “Nah, moms did it.”
“Word”
Me: “My talents are different”
“Oh?”
Me: “Yeah, I am a designer dog breeder.”
“Like
a teacup--…”
Me: “HELL no.”
“Oh,
then what kind?”
Me: “See, first I went on Craigslist and bought
a papered Jack Russell boy and a papered Pit Bull girl.”
“…”
Me: “Then I got with friends and family
strategically about the country and each one did the same.”
“Wow”
Me: “We raise the puppies together so they don’t
get aggressive to one another. Once the
girl goes into heat, nature do what it do.”
“This
is crazy”
Me: “Ain’t it!?
SO anyway. After each litter, we
rotate our boys clockwise.”
“Huh?”
Me: “The one in Virginia comes to me, mine goes
to South Carolina, South Carolina to Tennessee, Tennessee to Houston, Houston
to Vegas, Vegas to Cali. We keep a
rotation.”
“But
why?”
Me: “To prevent inbreeding. See, when the puppies come of age, everyone in
driving distance meets up with the person counter clockwise from THEM and
breeds the offspring.”
“But--…”
Me: “Boom, a couple of rounds on the carousel
and we have a designer dog breed.”
“And
what do you call this?”
Me: “Bull Jacks?
Jack Bull?”
“You’re
insane.”
Me: “Sheeit, so are these dogs!”
“I
gotta go.”
Me: “Aight, you be easy.”
And like that, she skee-fuckin-daddled away from me. I couldn’t see her face behind the mask, but
what was under that sundress was a nice addition to my afternoon.
[Phlip note: perhaps I should CONSIDER this dog breeding thing. Figure me and the boys could make like $500 a dog]
[Phlip note: perhaps I should CONSIDER this dog breeding thing. Figure me and the boys could make like $500 a dog]
These days my position in
the world affords me consistent transportation and I tend to either be with my
wife and kids or my big headphones when I might encounter people, so my need
for defensive smalltalk has dwindled to near nothing. I use the comments sections on unsuspecting
public posts on FB to keep my tools sharpened with some good ol non-sequitur
fuckery during the times I am not in FB jail behind something I may have or not
done or said. Those of you who follow me
there know the shit I do.
I am really more or less
waiting for the world to open back up a bit so I can RANDOMLY adventure out and
unleash some of what I have been practicing since I don’t leave my house much
these days. You can be assured that when
I do, you’ll all be the first to know.
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