When you have nothing left to say, you can always talk about the weather. It’s too hot, it’s too cold, it’s never just right. The point is to always complain, never to compliment. Beautiful days are of no use to the weather conversationalist. Commiserating over rain, sleet, heat, or the long march to climate apocalypse is a bonding technique.
The weather is something you can talk about with a bona fide mental patient. A dear friend. An estranged relative. A random passerby. A third-world dictator. A criminal. A colleague. There’s something uniquely special about finding common ground about the weather in a temperature-controlled environment, away from the elements. Like say, an elevator. You don’t want to talk about politics, religion, or even sports. But weather is a timeless subject. When at a loss for what to say, pepper in words like "forecast," "doppler" and blank of the "century."
Then again, it is what killed the dinosaurs. Not complaining so much as the blacked out sun and withered plant life. But I'm sure a good attitude couldn't have made things any worse.
No comments:
Post a Comment