Perils of Conversation

This past year—and by means through which I may have hardly been able to govern had I any prior knowledge—I was thrust into several obligatory couples' get-togethers, all of which I was equally less familiar with both components of said couple.

This, my discussion on the problems of conversation initiation with unfamiliar people, is hardly revolutionary; indeed, any popular sitcom in television history that escaped cancellation after the first season has, no doubt, already dealt with this issue in some detail.

But I digress.

Conversation, I have found, is much easier when you surround yourself with such persons as you choose to be around. Not that I despised these pre-arranged dinner dates (and yet, not that I didn't...[?]), but I did not choose to be there—the act of being there was merely thrust upon me. Without exception, it so happens that the husband component of the couple is either: a.) equally as disinterested in forcing conversation as I am, or b.) entirely too interested in forcing conversation into an already miserable situation.

Though it may not appear so on the surface, the Type A situation is probably much more taxing than Type B. A social setting in which the other male is awkward and verbally catatonic usually dictates that I assume the burden of discontinuing the silence. This is so, if not for the only reason that I am generally more annoyed by clumsy, awkward silences replete with nervous glances and shifty gestures vaguely suggesting the should-ness of our non-conversation, than by unrefined, boastful fellows who regale with stories of hunting trips, humorous mud flaps, unfinished home-improvement projects, and various car accessories.

As my experience in these scenarios matures, I’ve learned much by reviewing Jimmy Carter’s famous “malaise” speech, in which there is a directly observable lack of confidence and a loss of direction in the evening’s events. But, also like Jimmy Carter, I have learned something, albeit in a roundabout way, of negotiation. During a conversational stalemate, I attempt to find a common ground that both parties may build on. At best the conversation may turn to standard resolutions and format variances of HD televisions; at worst it may turn to a topic I have little-to-no concept of, like broadcast network programming. In a dream state, the conversation would be of professional sports; a utopian state would involve a discussion about the National Football League.

Yet the conversation is more often dominated by the other husband and the subject matter usually consists of some hobby or pastime that I really could care less about…

Yeah man, you totally need to come out with me and some of my high school buddies. We fly r/c planes out at the abandoned air strip on Saturday mornings. Sailplanes, model Cessnas—dude, it’s gonna rock! I’ve got some theories on airfoils that’ll knock your socks off.

I just stick my hands into my pockets and shrug my shoulders. I glance at the time on my cell phone and over to Charlotte to see if, by some act of God, she’s trying to wrap things up and bring the evening of social awkwardness to a close.

It’s only been fifteen minutes since they’ve gotten here so, no, I guess it won’t be over any time soon.