I hate small talk. I find it mind-numbing and exhausting.
Whether it is the weather, the weekend, or work, I don’t care what you think
about it and I don’t care if you care what I think about it. Small talk is uncomfortable
and I’m not naturally good at it. It is the very definition of hard work. I know there are some who enjoy this and they
usually have way more friends than I do and make them very quickly. I get
envious of this sometimes and I’ll make attempts at it, but usually I just end
up moving to the 2nd tier of friendship development with someone I
think is an idiot. There are unavoidable adult tasks like doctor’s
appointments, hair appointments, dentist appointments, and grocery shopping
where small talk is rampant and REQUIRED if I don’t want to seem like a
complete bitch. (I wish I didn’t care about other people’s feelings or what
they thought about me because that would solve a plethora of my problems.) Alas,
I small talk as much is necessary to be a socially acceptable human being.
Today, I was strolling through Trader Joes on my bi-weekly grocery
shopping trip. I actually really enjoy it. I think it has to do with how much I
love food and that to me, grocery shopping still represents my independence
from my parents and a sure sign I’m making a really good adult. Near the end of
this shopping trip, it came time to choose my check-out lane. More importantly,
I was choosing my cashier. I choose a cashier based on many factors. It depends
on the items in my cart, my mood, whether or not I’m in a time crunch, etc. For
example, if I’m at Target buying tampons, but I’m late for work, then I’ll
definitely choose an older female who looks like she may not speak English.
Easy. No feminine products/male cashier embarrassment AND no possibility of time
consuming small talk. In this way, I love language barriers. Today, I was in no
rush and in a decent, laizzez-faire mood, so I just chose the shortest line. I
got in line behind a young guy and girl, probably in their early twenties, wearing
their 90s LA chic, pre-torn jeans, and their sunglasses (INSIDE!) I know these
types. They live in Beverly Hills with their wealthy parents. They don’t work
and the hardest thing they’ll do all week is decide whether they’ll bring
Mimosas or white wine for this weekend’s poolside brunch. Gross. The cashier in
this line was an ethnically ambiguous male also in his early twenties. He was
cute enough, in that little kid kind of way. He had curly hair, a mildly pimply
face, and sort of a high voice. Their small talk:
Cashier: “Hey, guys. You find everything alright?” He said
this in that, “I was my class’s vice-president in high school,” voice.
(Long, weird pause.)
90s Chic Male: “Oh… uh… yeah man.” He was too busy checking
his phone.
Cashier: “How’s your weekend so far?”
(Longer, weirder pause.)
90s Chic Male: “Oh….. uh…. Good bruh…… Can you put the
blueberries in a separate bag?”
Cashier: “Absolutely! Sorry about that.” The cashier digs
through the bag for the berries he’d bagged 30 seconds ago, switches them to
their own separate bag, and continues to sort without any help from the two. I
couldn’t help but feel sorry for the cashier. He was just trying to be nice and
these two couldn’t even be bothered to smile or make eye contact.
90s Chic Female: Looked up from texting to say to her friend,
“Ugh. Oh my god. David’s bringing Sarah. Jen’s gonna be pissed.”
90s Chic Male: “Serious?” Cashier still bagging.
90s Chic Female: “Yeah.”
90s Chic Male: “Maaaaan.”
90s Chic Female: “Yeah.”
The cashier barely finishes their bags before the two grab
them and walk off, still on their
phones, still having their riveting conversation about David, Sarah, and Jen
what a devastating disaster today’s party was gonna be. He, so sincerely, bid
them farewell, “Have a great weekend, guys! Thanks for coming in!”
They did not respond.
This was infuriating! This cashier was so sweet and was
probably making just above minimum wage at this silly job and was JUST trying
to make some small-talk. (I said I didn’t like small talk, not that I wouldn’t
defend someone’s right to have it if they wanted it. Bleeding Heart Liberal,
right here.)
As the two douches walked off to live their obviously, too
awesome for anyone else life, I moved up, determined to turn this cashier’s day
around. I would be nice, charming, make eye-contact, be interested in
everything he had to say, maybe muster up a joke or two, AND I would help bag
my groceries. This was gonna be awesome. I just knew after our interaction he
would feel so good about himself. He would probably walk a little taller today.
‘Here
we go, Andrea, your good deed for the day. You should be proud of yourself,’
I thought as handed the cashier my cart with the kind of smile that hurts your
face muscles. (I should know by now that any time I think I have a good idea of
how a situation will turn out, it will probably turn out the opposite.) Our
small talk:
Cashier: “How are you
doing today, Ma’am? Did you find everything ok?”
Me: Lots of eye
contact and smiling, “I’m good and yes!
Thank you so much!” I began to bag my own groceries like a good consumer.
Cashier: “How’s your
weekend so far?”
‘Here we go. Here’s my
chance. This guy and I were going to relate and we were both going to be better
for it!’ Me: “Its good. I’m working all weekend so it’ll be busy, you know?”
Cashier: “Oh, like
right now?”
Me: Still
smiling. “What?”
Cashier: “Are you
working right now?”
‘Oh no! Was he
serious? Oh my gosh, he’s sincerely asking me this question. This was going
downhill faster than anyone could’ve anticipated. What job would require me to
be working right now with no make-up, my work-out clothes on, and canned beans
in my cart?!’ Me: “No. Not RIGHT
NOW. Right now, I’m grocery shopping…. For myself.” I laughed, hoping he
wasn’t going to be this stupid the rest of our time together. “I work later on
tonight.”
Cashier: “Oh. Ha
ha……” He looked at my goat cheese as he rang it up.
I panicked! ‘Oh my
gosh. He’s looking at my cheese! He’s going to comment on my groceries. I HATE
it when people comment on my groceries. Please don’t! PLEASE…. D….’
Cashier: Holding
up my goat cheese, “Have you tried this
one?”
Me: “……….Have I tried Goat cheese?” Oh, my brain was on fire! I was
losing interest so fast. I had no smile now. This was just miserable. This was
the worst kind of small talk because it was already clear that we were never
going to understand each other. He was a simpleton and I was not willing to
deal with it. (Don’t worry. I’m still not as bad as the couple before me
because at least I paid attention and gave him a chance.) It was all my fault.
I had engaged him. Maybe he was happy just asking if I had found everything
alright and how my weekend was. Perhaps I had caught him off guard by
responding sincerely and the goat cheese question was his nervous attempt at
taking our interaction to the next level. ‘Why
is he scanning so SLOWLY?!?!’
Cashier: “Yeah.”
Me: Sigh. “Uuuuuhhhh, yes. Yes, I have.”
Cashier: Still
just holding my goat cheese and not scanning the rest of my items, “Is this the honey flavor?”
I was holding my middle fingers at my temples now. Me: “No. Just…. The regular flavor.”
Cashier: “Oh. Cool.
I’ll have to try it.” He continued to scan. “So, where do you work?”
‘Oh, Jesus. Kill me.’ Me: “At a restaurant,” I smiled that
kind of smile that, to an intelligent person, should indicate I don’t want to
say anything more about it.
Cashier: “Oh! Are you
like, a chef or something?” It felt like he was talking soooo loudly. People
were definitely over-hearing our conversation now.
‘Ok, not only are you
stupid, but you’re really bein’ a dick. You’re really gonna make me say it?
Fine!’ Me: “No, I’m a server.” (I didn’t want to engage him further by
explaining that I was really an actress and artist, blah, blah.)
Cashier: “Oh!” He
was excited at this for some reason and was definitely talking louder now. “Which restaurant?”
I let out a sigh. I was not hiding my frustration now. It’s
ok, he wasn’t getting it anyway. Me:
“Oh, just a restaurant in Pasadena.”
Cashier: “What kind
of food is it? Like, what do they have?”
‘Is he seriously NOT
done scanning yet?!?! I didn’t even buy that much today!’ I was impatiently
waiting for each item and snatching it as he slid it my way to put it in my
bag. I couldn’t waste a second getting out of this. Me: “Oh, steaks, burgers, and stuff. Heh, heh.” I was really trying
hard not to engage him or anyone else that could definitely hear us at this
point. God forbid we bring in a third into this disaster.
Cashier: “Is it worth
driving to Pasadena for? Maybe I’ll have to try it.” It was so forced. He
was really working hard here.
‘Fuuuuuuuuccccck. No,
no, no. You do NOT have to try it.’ Where was this going?! What does that
even mean? Was he going to drive to Pasadena, ask for me, sit in my section,
and when people ask how we know each other, he’d say “Oh! I’m the cashier at
her local Trader Joes, so naturally I’m here to visit her at her place of work!”
Its weird! Me:
“Oh, its just a corporate, over-priced, plain ol’ restaurant. Ha ha.” ‘Please, please, please don’t make me say
more.’
Cashier: He
looked at me with disapproval, “That’s
the way you talk about the restaurant you work at?”
I cocked my head to the side and lifted an eyebrow. ‘Touche, Trader Joes Cashier. I thought I was
attempting to teach the life lessons today. I thought I was passing the
judgment.’ Me: Defensively because
I was caught off guard by this response, “It’s
just a restaurant job while I pursue other avenues. And no, it is not worth the
drive.” I swiped my debit card with a humph.
Cashier: “Well, I
hope your job gets better!”
‘What?! Are you
serious?’ I looked around to see if anyone was listening with the “is he
serious?” look. Who did this kid think he was?! This was an unmitigated
disaster! Not only was our small talk
painful, but this kid was actually feeling sorry for ME! Could I leave knowing
he was going to think I was leading a miserable life in which people needed to
be sorry for me? ‘I hope your job gets
better?!?!’ What a little asshole!
I took my bags, placed them in my cart, and turned it toward
the door. With both hands placed firmly on the cart, I turned back toward him
and between two very tight and angry lips, I smiled and said, “thank you so much! I hope you have a great
rest of the day!”
I left breathing heavily, trying to process what had just
happened. THIS was the very reason I dreaded these kinds of interactions so
much. I couldn’t go through the rest of
the day thinking every time I engaged someone in small talk, it would be THAT
awful. I had to convince myself the next time would be better. Otherwise, the
rest of my life would be one hell of an uphill battle!
I went over our conversation in my head to figure out what I
could’ve done differently. I recommend you re-read just the conversation written bold. It’s much
worse without my interjections. My
mistake was in how I tried to relate to him. He obviously loved his job at
Trader Joes, while I was operating under the assumption we were going to
connect by “Damning the Man” and perhaps exchange some witty banter, both of us
knowing it wasn’t going further than the validation of my parking. This started
us off on two entirely different wave lengths. I should’ve detected it right
away and played by the “I love my job” rules, but, believe it or not, I have a hard
time acting when it comes to this particular subject. Also, other people were
listening. You never know who could over-hear me say “I just LOVE serving
delicious hamburgers and French fries to the guests at MY restaurant and you’ve
GOT to try the key-lime pie! It’s worth the drive alone!” I just can’t do it.
It hurts my soul to even write it.
He said, “I hope your job gets better!” It’s NOT going to
get better!! It’s not because it’s bad.
It’s because it’s not what I want to do with my life! BUT I CAN’T EXPLAIN THIS
TO A CASHIER AT TRADER JOES IN THE 90 SECONDS WE HAVE TOGETHER! Do you see my
point?
THIS is why I hate small talk.
Oh man. This is why I love having a kid in the check-out. I can act busy in a polite way. Thanks for the laugh!
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