Small Talk

I can be the queen of small talk, if I am in the mood for that. I have this ability to remember the most irrelevant things I hear, so I can always ask people if their cat has still constipation, if the schizophrenic grandma finally rests in piece, or if the brother-in-law has gotten out of jail.

But as I have to small talk time to time too much with my clients, I am not always in the mood for it. Small talk can be necessary, my salary and the yearly bonus are very depended on how much bull shit I can listen during a dinner with a clown of a client. The worst part is the clown getting drunk and frisky, then my diplomatic skills are really on trial. I may need to slap the client, but not too hard, not so hard I lose the business. Just hard enough that he gets the message and then I pray to God he is not a sadomasochist.

Parental Small Talk is a part of being a parent. There are all too many school, club and class parties the parents have to attend and this requires small talk with people you have nothing in common with. Like one mom in my daughters’ class was telling once that the most fantastic thing in Paris was Euro Disney. AND THIS WAS BEFORE SHE HAD CHILDREN. Heavens, this is the most horrible insult towards the most fantastic city in the world, a f… plastic park. But I didn’t say this; I can be diplomatic, I just rolled my eyes. If I have money, shopping is of course the most fantastic thing in Paris, if I don’t have money, window shopping is the most fantastic thing in Paris.

Usually I get through these annoying class parties quite decently. But if I have just had two days inspection with an exhausting client, I might not be so diplomatic. I might ask one of the fathers who is a big game hunter: “So tell me Søren, how badly did the elephant howl when you shot it? Was is like your wife giving birth to the twins or was it more like a man who just got his legs driven over by a train?” Then my husband drags me away explaining everybody it is time for us to go home; it is time for my medication.