In our everyday life, there are small things, almost non-existent, so trivial, in fact, that the mind refuses to store this information in the back of the head. This is no philosophy, rest assured, I’m not nearly as boring as that.
Imagine going into a grocery store, meeting an acquaintance by chance. What’s the first thought that comes to mind? I bet you ask the person how the day’s been, how the kids are doing, how’s work and the norm. In short, small talk.
There’s nothing wrong about it right, just a healthy way to kill time. Or is it? – Do you really want to know how his life is as boring as it gets. Or how he is living the happily-ever-after that you dreamed up? When you don’t give a rat’s ass about how he got a gold medal in bowling last Sunday, why, oh why do you ask him how the tournament went?!
If you ask me, this thing makes our lives more of a pain than it has to be. Its the weirdest form of a self-imposed obligation. In which, nobody, absolutely nobody, in all totality and absolution, nobody (I cannot stress this enough!) gets the slightest bit of benefit; no matter how you look at it. Its forced smiles here and forced smiles there.
I’ve been to a store many times. Never actually bought stuff (I’m the escort), but that’s besides the point. I’ve been in plenty of conversations, no surprises there, but never the normal routine chat. I hate that sort of conversations, just not my type. But this sounds a lot more like me on a harmless tour of the mall.
Believe it or not (don’t), I’m a part of a gang called PSF that beats people up because they are ugly looking. You’ll find chains and whips in my room (for violent purposes only!) and a couple of glocks here and there. You know, regular stuff.
And that, people, is how my first conversation with a complete stranger went. The guy was petrified (understatement). PSF is a well known group of students that are often associated with mishaps (Solely rumors, in my opinion) Apparently I fit the description of a gangster pretty well, because this guy did not come back to pick up the bag of chips he dropped by my feet – no matter how loud I shouted that I was just kidding.