Tea talk-Conversations I'd rather not have in the canteen................

Until I worked in an office I’d managed to avoid much small talk. 

Choosing to wear a particularly large pair of headphones in the cafe- I sat at alone, or zealously concentrating on my phone screen,as the mad lady made her rounds at the bus stop;I usually managed to look arrogantly occupied in nothing. Communicating all I needed to, to silence those types, who just feel the need to talk about nothing to everyone?

All of the same social species, me and my neurotic, dramatic, hedonistic friends communicate with intimate chats, emotional rants and witty depraved banter. To me and ‘my kind’ the  polite clipped sound of small  talk which never delves deep enough and never gets to  know you well enough  is the language of another species entirely.

 What do I need plastic talk for?

 As a newly initiated office girl- and a long way from Kansas or Ibiza on my first day as a corporate - in a job I knew wasn't typically suitable for me, getting to know my new colleagues left me, speechless.

 A month later, of being left out at the sink, and no one ever pouring  me a drink I inevitably become bothered by the social obligation to learn how to talk small.

The regional director takes a seat at my desk; arranging himself and his suit in what he assumes looks like a friendly perch.

'And how are you getting on'.

A question loaded with more than he would dare say.

This is it.My moment to showcase how well I can  'common speak'.

A few minutes pass, where we engage in nothing but dull eye contact and carefully let out laughter.I avoid straying into any of the traps( also known as longer developed sentences).

Bored, I set myself targets from his response. 

Desperately trying to avoid the cringe worthy verbal nod that confirms he’s not interested and not listening: 'Very good, very good'

I’d love to test him.

I had a great time back home except for my dog ate my dad’s Viagra.

In reality, I say nothing. He seems happy.

After a compliment on my outdated tinsel covered computer he makes to leave.

 So what did you get for Christmas this year then?

: 'Oh lots of interesting things' (He cocks a power brow)

'Well: My boyfriend bought me my first pair of £100 pants; they’re called: How to Marry a Millionaire... and they're crutch-less' - I can't tell him the truth:

'I got loads of things, I think my favorite present was my One Direction Calendar',

 A sparce joke about Harry Styles and he leaves. 

I can’t be sure, but I think I sense disappointment in his retreating, creased back; courtesy of NEXT. I think he may have wanted me to give him a more human answer. 

'Does he know I’m wearing them now?'

A few pay checks on, and I can’t totally mock small talk. 

While it's still  too much to expect to hear me-  opening  a line of chat with a observation about the taste superiority of semi skimmed over full fat milk, I have become slightly more assured this chatter has something to teach me .

 Without the compact communication I am now speaking, I never would have cracked Pete- the offices oldest employer. My brash honesty would have alarmed him and reminded him of our plane of differences.

'What’s your favourite Animal Pete?'

Animated, he tells me enough about himself for me to know I might like to get to know him more. As he opens up about nothing much, we become friends and I am let in on how to survive the interminable targets I must now reach- but never gain from in our office.

I exceed target and I'm allowed to stay and I  find myself in unfamiliar territory.

 I want to visit Pete's desk to find out more about his pet mouse that broke free and decided to live with the guinea pigs.

I begin to surprise myself as I want to start sharing the small stuff.

 One day I even make the first start.

'Anna, that’s a nice scarf'

Lightly- getting to know her, through Hob knobs and observations over the disgusting state of the woman's toilets,One day she surprises me.

Friday,  before a staff night out somewhere I don't want to go much- she  recommends where we can  get a good gram and rings her drug dealer. 

We rack up a friendship and I let her listen to my I pod.

 Some days I still trip up and fall, and I want to tell it all. 

This time It starts when I meet my boss at the traffic lights. Metre's away from the office- it seems like a long stretch of conversation:

'So.....How was you weekend Esme?'

I push the button on the lights- hoping to get out of this one. I take a deep breath coughing down gum and any subtle social celibacy I thought I had: 'Well, my housemate- who I hate, he got arrested for having a 14 year old girlfriend', so our house got raided, because she's actually a missing person and, I missed the first train home from clubbing so we slept at the bus station.

I trail off; leaving behind sludge of inappropriate disclosures: 'Very good ...very good'. 

He reassures me conspiratorially that he hasn't heard the fine details.

It’s kind of him.

 Mid afternoon: nowhere near a Friday.

I sneak towards the staff room, hoping to steal one on Julie’s Earl Grey tea bags.

 Fuck, I can't remember the code for the door. 

Behind it,I hear the rumble of boiling water and a short pour: “I like that new girl you know, she's frank.