Small Talk
6/15/07

At 1:30 on a Friday the second floor ladies' room was deserted, so I took the opportunity to freshen the concealer covering a hickey on my neck. As I stood in front of the mirror, painting and buffing, Megan came in and flashed me her Marketing smile. I half-smiled at her through the mirror, willing her to walk past me to the stalls, but she placed her small leather purse on the counter and took out a hairbrush.

"Any plans for the weekend?" She asked, removing her eyeglasses so she could comb out her hair.

I winced. I was not in the mood for small talk. It was Friday afternoon; I still had three hours to go before I could blow the joint and I was trying to cover up a hickey in private. "Oh, just the usual stuff," I replied, praying that she would leave it at that.

Of course, she didn't. "And what would that be?" She asked.

I sighed, "You know.. sleep.. TV.. more TV."

Megan laughed theatrically, like a spokesmodel in an infomercial. More of that Marketing charm.

I started blending my makeup faster so I could end this useless conversation and go get a cup of coffee.

Megan pressed on, "Not doing anything with your dad?" She asked, now touching up her lipstick.

I froze for a moment, racking my brain. Why would I do something with my dad? I wondered.

As if reading my thoughts Megan added, "Father's Day on Sunday."

"Oh!" I laughed at my own absentmindedness. "I'll probably just drop by his house, give him his present, hang out for a little bit and then go home and watch more TV."

I expected her to laugh at this but she only made sympathetic cooing sounds. "Aw, not going out to dinner or anything?"

I immediately wished my makeup brush was a razor blade. "Nah," I shrugged, forcing myself to sound light-hearted.

Megan smiled awkwardly and began smoothing her hair with her hands.

A red light suddenly started flashing in my head. I should do something else now. I studied Megan for a few moments, trying to figure out what a more friendly person would do in this situation. Of course! It finally hit me, I was at the point in the conversation where I should be asking her about her weekend plans. I felt a small knot form in my stomach at the thought of prolonging this tiresome chatter, but I'd promised myself I would work on my social skills. So I gave it a shot.

"What about you?" I proffered, forcing another light-hearted smile. "Any... plans?" I punctuated this query with a small, nervous laugh. A little voice inside me was yelling, Shut up! Get out of here! I want some coffee! I piled more concealer onto my hickey to make it look like I had another reason to be there besides our generic "weekend plans" conversation.

Megan looked surprised. She put her glasses back on and turned to me with raised eyebrows. I stared hard at my reflection in the mirror to avoid her gaze. The smile that formed on her face was bursting with excitement. I could tell she was thinking, "Oh my God, Delia's talking to me! My Marketing skills are working! I've broken her out of her shell!" The idea of her getting off on my feigned friendliness made me sick to my stomach.

I made a deal with the coffee-craving voice in my head that I would walk out if Megan didn't say something in five seconds. I began to count in my head, one, two...

"Actually I'm going down the shore."

Damn it!

The words had escaped my lips before I could stop them, "Which shore?"

What are you doing? The little voice was screaming. This conversation has to stop now! I agreed. I gave my neck one last rub, put my concealer in my pocket and started moving toward the door.

Megan was still beaming at me stupidly. "Avalon," she said proudly.

I'm sorry, I thought, chuckling to myself. "Oh," I said, slowly backing away. "That's nice."

Another voice spoke up in my head. This one was so tiny it was barely audible. It came from the outgoing, polite part of my brain, the one that I'd promised I would work on my social skills. Ask her about her dad, it said.

No! the frustrated anti-social part of me cried. This has gone on too long already!

Just one more question, the social part replied. Just ask this one question and then we can go get coffee. Father's Day is this Sunday. It's the polite thing to do.

I sighed again and mustered up all the strength I had left in my caffeine-deprived body. "Doing anything.. with your dad?" I muttered.

I thought Megan must have seen how much difficulty I was having, but she appeared oblivious. "Oh, he's coming too," she sang happily. "He loves the beach. Even at his age!" She threw her head back and laughed her spokesmodel laugh again.

I forced a tiny, pathetic giggle and reached for the door. Now, remember how to end it politely, the tiny voice in my head instructed.

"Well..." I began, searching for the right concluding phrase. "Have.. a good one." Yeah, that's it. That's what people say. I smiled as pleasantly as I could and made my exit before Megan could reply. Once outside the door I flattened myself against the adjacent wall and took several deep breaths.

Come off it, the polite voice scolded. It wasn't that bad.

When I rolled the incident over in my mind I realized that the voice was right. Maybe I could get used to this whole "friendliness" thing. Smiling brightly at my personal accomplishment, I made my way down to the kitchenette to reap my reward.

Don from Logistics was already there, watching sleepily as dark brown liquid poured from the coffee machine into his styrofoam cup. He looked up and grinned at me as I approached. "Hi," he said with a quick yawn.

What the hell, my anti-social voice conceded. We have to wait for the coffee anyway, may as well try out your new skills.

"Boy," I said. "Looks like you really need that coffee." I tried to duplicate Megan's spokesmodel laugh, but it came out a little too boisterous. Nevertheless I felt a twinge of pride at my good-humored banter. I smiled expectantly at Don, waiting for him to join me in my laughter, but to my complete surprise he had instead affixed me with a cold glare.

That red light in my head started flashing again. Something went wrong. I thought for sure he would have laughed at that. Wasn't it the kind of back-and-forth I usually heard my co-workers cackling about around the coffee machine? I stared helplessly at Don, unable to speak as the gears turned in my brain, working overtime to find out how I'd messed up.

The last few drops of coffee dripped into Don's cup, and he seized it with an angry sweep of his arm that I was afraid would send the hot liquid splashing all over the kitchenette. It didn't. He slapped a plastic lid on his cup and then turned to face me once more. "That's really insensitive of you to say, Delia," he growled. "You know I have CFS." With that he stormed off, coffee in hand, leaving me gaping after him, utterly dumbfounded.

The three letters he had used were feeding through my brain like a document through a fax machine. I'd heard them before, but I couldn't remember when or where.

Just then Megan walked by on her way back from the ladies' room. The disappointed expression on her face told me she had heard my whole exchange with Don. I looked at her desperately, thinking, Help me! What's CFS?

As if reading my thoughts again she said, "Delia, Don has Chronic Fatigue Syndrome." Then she shuffled off to the Marketing department, shaking her head.

In a daze I reached for a styrofoam cup for my much-anticipated coffee.

You really screwed that up, my anti-social voice laughed cruelly. See what happens when you try to be friendly? Stick with me, kid. We won't have to worry about small talk ever again.

"Never again," I parroted out loud. "Yeah, that's the way to go."