Day 47: Death by small talk
And other surprising ways to die
My second to last Friday in lockdown was another marvel. Work, meetings. Some life admin (if anyone needs tips on how to postpone a wedding, preferably theirs, let me know). A blue sky. Aperitivo with friends over Zoom. Bad internet. Life in quarantine is, essentially, pretty normal, beyond the lack of interaction with strangers. I am beginning to get nostalgic already.
We decided to make curry for dinner, which required much more time than expected, and the use of 70% of our kitchen utensils. I can’t wait to overorder at a restaurant again.
Tomas Pueyo, possibly the world’s biggest Corona-influencer, is posting non-stop advice on how to handle the pandemic (and doing a much better job at it than many politicians). In one of his recent articles, he wrote the following, which completely ruined my restaurant fantasy:
“First, we need to separate tables in restaurants and maintain distance between people. There should be at least 2 meters between people—if possible, more—and we should avoid having a lot of talking for a long time.”
This basically means only one thing: Italy is doomed. People would rather die here than stop talking. Food influencers don’t post photos of their food, they post stories of themselves talking about the food they just ate. I have seen people answer their phones and have a full conversation in museums.
Speaking of politicians doing a bad job: How many people are drinking disinfectant right now? In case you missed it, Donald Trump suggested that people inject themselves with bleach. Is this what he did to his eyeballs? Either way, the internet responded.
According to some media outlets, even introverts are struggling these days. I beg to differ. Online social interactions mean that you only talk to the people you’ve specifically arranged to meet with. Having to make small talk with a stranger, or even worse, a really boring non-stranger at a party is probably one of my worst nightmares.
Events with roughly 20-30 people are particularly dangerous. Stand in the wrong corner of the room, or sit at the wrong end of the table, and you’re done for. Sure, some people you meet at parties can be interesting, some have even become friends through the years. But my spontaneous thought is always ‘Why are you talking to me?’ followed by ‘Must finish drink so I can use the bar as an excuse’.
The worst version of small talk always happens in confined spaces, where there is no escape. I once was on a flight in which the lady next to me was chatting to me non-stop (or chatting me up, I never figured out which one). Either way, I wasn’t interested. I managed to kill the conversation after about one hour and decided to watch Game of Thrones on my iPad, only for it to be the episode with the famous 8-minute long lesbian sex scene, serving as a backdrop to Littlefinger’s expositional soliloquy. I’m sad Trumptinis didn’t exist back then, I would have probably ordered three.
Lunch: Chicken fajita salad (AKA leftovers)
Song of the day: The Strokes - You Talk Way Too Much
I write and post Letters from Quarantine daily, from my apartment in Milan. If you like it, you can sign up and receive every post in your email inbox. You can also share the joy with your friends.