old fashioned porky pies. Once again, I find myself playing a submissive role I never thought I’d be playing in a flat I happen to own. Just when will I stop doing this? I used to be pretty well versed in striking up random conversations with the best of them, but as I currently have precious little to say without launching into a self-defensive monologue, conversing with other people is proving a bit of a challenge.
When I’m working and feeling as okay as I’m ever going to be about the world, I can do small talk with the best of them, honed in that Australian hostel where I moved in knowing absolutely no one. When I wasn’t shooting the breeze with people about all manner of trivial things like who left the strip lighting on all night and who had stolen our dorm’s telly, I would be chatting to the forty year-old backpacker with the hairy mole, looking forlorn on the hostel bunk below. That weekend cleaning job was also a baptism of fire in small talk too – how many weekends did I get up at the crack of dawn, only to have to humour all nighters on the stairwell with yet more idle chatter. I’d agree with their drunken drivel and ask whether they’d mind peeing over that part of the floor as I was cleaning at this end and didn’t want a facial sauna. Oh yes, I used to be able to turn on the chitchat big time. Then I got home and my reservations of old returned as I started working in windowless offices and living with girls like Claire; girls who do nothing but tut.
Slowly taking her rollers out, Claire is now sitting in front of Linda looking like Shirley Temple, debating about whether face masks are better than facial spas with the passion of someone discussing nuclear disarmament.
Knowing she’ll hate me interrupting the heated discussion, I clear my throat. ‘I couldn’t help but overhear you mention Wayne just now. Have you seen him recently?’ I enquire, handing over a cup of tea to Linda who takes it gratefully, probably needing to swill her mouth out of cardboard cake remnants.
‘Excuse me, why would I notice him?’ Claire sneers. ‘He was such a nerd at school.’
Reaching for my own cup of tea, I sit down. ‘You probably have seen him you know. You just wouldn’t recognise him.’ Despite her best efforts to look indifferent, even Claire seems a bit surprised to hear that Wayne has lost that pubescent moustache that he tended to as though it were a bonsai tree.
‘I don’t care,’ she then says, slightly too defensively. ‘Once a nerd, always a nerd.’
Looking at her sun-baked skin born from too many lunches in the tanning booth and her receding hairline from years of extensions, not to mention those heavy fake lashes, if Wayne is still the nerd what does that make Claire?
Wayne and Claire knew each other from school, but they weren’t exactly the best of friends as he was hopelessly in love with her. It all started when fifteen-year old Wayne, who up until then had just been hanging out with his mates from the IT club in the common room, decided to shake it up a little. Leaving his friends chewing gum and arguing about one of those really big computers that never looked any fun to use, he strutted over and casually asked Claire out in front of all her friends. I remember sitting nearby with my teeth glued together by strawberry bon bons, looking on in absolute horror. What on earth was he doing ?
Claire then made him repeat himself as though she hadn’t heard him properly before laughing in his face.
‘Yeah right, like I would ever go out with a loser like you!’ she shrieked, prompting Wayne to go bright red in embarrassment. I just remember thinking that it was a mean thing to say, as from where I was standing self-assured Wayne was way cooler than vain Claire. Wayne was far cooler as he wasn’t trying to be anything other than he was and while a little on the stocky side, was built like a brick shithouse. He could have confidently taken on the big guy in a fight any day.
When I’m working and feeling as okay as I’m ever going to be about the world, I can do small talk with the best of them, honed in that Australian hostel where I moved in knowing absolutely no one. When I wasn’t shooting the breeze with people about all manner of trivial things like who left the strip lighting on all night and who had stolen our dorm’s telly, I would be chatting to the forty year-old backpacker with the hairy mole, looking forlorn on the hostel bunk below. That weekend cleaning job was also a baptism of fire in small talk too – how many weekends did I get up at the crack of dawn, only to have to humour all nighters on the stairwell with yet more idle chatter. I’d agree with their drunken drivel and ask whether they’d mind peeing over that part of the floor as I was cleaning at this end and didn’t want a facial sauna. Oh yes, I used to be able to turn on the chitchat big time. Then I got home and my reservations of old returned as I started working in windowless offices and living with girls like Claire; girls who do nothing but tut.
Slowly taking her rollers out, Claire is now sitting in front of Linda looking like Shirley Temple, debating about whether face masks are better than facial spas with the passion of someone discussing nuclear disarmament.
Knowing she’ll hate me interrupting the heated discussion, I clear my throat. ‘I couldn’t help but overhear you mention Wayne just now. Have you seen him recently?’ I enquire, handing over a cup of tea to Linda who takes it gratefully, probably needing to swill her mouth out of cardboard cake remnants.
‘Excuse me, why would I notice him?’ Claire sneers. ‘He was such a nerd at school.’
Reaching for my own cup of tea, I sit down. ‘You probably have seen him you know. You just wouldn’t recognise him.’ Despite her best efforts to look indifferent, even Claire seems a bit surprised to hear that Wayne has lost that pubescent moustache that he tended to as though it were a bonsai tree.
‘I don’t care,’ she then says, slightly too defensively. ‘Once a nerd, always a nerd.’
Looking at her sun-baked skin born from too many lunches in the tanning booth and her receding hairline from years of extensions, not to mention those heavy fake lashes, if Wayne is still the nerd what does that make Claire?
Wayne and Claire knew each other from school, but they weren’t exactly the best of friends as he was hopelessly in love with her. It all started when fifteen-year old Wayne, who up until then had just been hanging out with his mates from the IT club in the common room, decided to shake it up a little. Leaving his friends chewing gum and arguing about one of those really big computers that never looked any fun to use, he strutted over and casually asked Claire out in front of all her friends. I remember sitting nearby with my teeth glued together by strawberry bon bons, looking on in absolute horror. What on earth was he doing ?
Claire then made him repeat himself as though she hadn’t heard him properly before laughing in his face.
‘Yeah right, like I would ever go out with a loser like you!’ she shrieked, prompting Wayne to go bright red in embarrassment. I just remember thinking that it was a mean thing to say, as from where I was standing self-assured Wayne was way cooler than vain Claire. Wayne was far cooler as he wasn’t trying to be anything other than he was and while a little on the stocky side, was built like a brick shithouse. He could have confidently taken on the big guy in a fight any day.
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