Talking to Strangers
by Katherine Mikkelson
Can you talk to virtually anyone? I mean, really anyone? Are you able to strike up a conversation with the tattooed biker dude eating dinner at the table next to you, just as well as the doddering old lady in purple pants at the grocery store? Some would say it’s an art, perhaps a dying one, and I would agree. Now everyone is staring into their palms at their devices instead of being bored while waiting for the bus and asking the woman standing next to them if that new novel she’s reading is any good. It takes a certain someone who will notice something unique about an individual, stop them, and begin a conversation in earnest.
My grandfather Charlie was a great talker. He could strike up a conversation with the mailman, the teenager behind the deli counter, or the octogenarian from church. “I’m going to take out the trash,” he’d tell my grandmother. An hour would go by. My grandmother would stick her head out of the second floor apartment window and see Charlie out on the street, gesticulating wildly with a cigar in hand, as he regaled a complete stranger with some tale. Race, gender, religion or ethnicity didn’t matter. If Charlie found something in common with his fellow man or woman, the floodgates opened.
Charlie’s gift of gab likely led to the marriage of his mother-in-law. Charlie worked at the Queens, New York post office, where he eventually rose up the ranks and became a supervisor. I like to think that Charlie just started chatting it up with one of his employees, Frank Bertsch, one day— maybe about the New York Giants’ chances for a pennant that year, or Roosevelt’s New Deal, or the frightening new King Kong movie. Charlie must have sensed something wholesome and good about Frank that made him believe he would be a good match for his sweetheart’s mother, Catherine, who had been widowed for many years. He introduced the two, and not only did they hit it off, but they married within months of Charlie and Kay. Frank must have thought the world of Charlie, because the two couples then honeymooned together in Niagara Falls.
I am usually admonished by my children when I start up a conversation with someone random. They are embarrassed by me, they tell me, as if that enough should serve as a deterrent. Example A was a few months ago when we moved my older son into his freshman dorm. Momentarily baffled by the room layout, I walked down the hall to see how other people had set them up. The room right next door was strewn with unopened bedding, sports equipment, a case of ramen noodles, two parents and a fellow freshman. I walked right in and introduced myself. I asked the student to come to our room to check it out.
After he left, Zack took one look at me and hissed, “Mom, stop talking to people!”
“Oh no, not a chance,” I cheerily replied. I mean, really, the kid has known me for 18 years and thinks I’m suddenly going to stop being me? I proceeded to talk to the dean about freshmen orientation, the provost about the engineering program, and the chaplain about Sunday mass. I chatted with the ladies in the cafeteria and the students in the tech center. I made it my mission to talk to everyone I could, amid my son’s heavy eye rolling and occasional sighs. I find it so fulfilling that many weeks later, the student from next door is one of Zack’s best friends. Next year, they plan to room together.
So talk to that guy in accounting whom you’ve never met, but see every week. Ditto for the woman on the L with the oddly shaped instrument case. The guy might turn out to share your love of riding roller coasters and handcuff collecting, and the woman might be the bari sax virtuoso that your jazz ensemble desperately needs. There’s no telling when a conversation may lead you toward an unexpected future.
Katherine Mikkelson is an attorney-turned-writer who lives in Arlington Heights. She blogs at http://StateEats.com, which highlights food from all 50 states.
Back to Katherine's Page
Can not be reproduced or used without written permission Copyright, 2015 All rights reserved
by Katherine Mikkelson
Can you talk to virtually anyone? I mean, really anyone? Are you able to strike up a conversation with the tattooed biker dude eating dinner at the table next to you, just as well as the doddering old lady in purple pants at the grocery store? Some would say it’s an art, perhaps a dying one, and I would agree. Now everyone is staring into their palms at their devices instead of being bored while waiting for the bus and asking the woman standing next to them if that new novel she’s reading is any good. It takes a certain someone who will notice something unique about an individual, stop them, and begin a conversation in earnest.
My grandfather Charlie was a great talker. He could strike up a conversation with the mailman, the teenager behind the deli counter, or the octogenarian from church. “I’m going to take out the trash,” he’d tell my grandmother. An hour would go by. My grandmother would stick her head out of the second floor apartment window and see Charlie out on the street, gesticulating wildly with a cigar in hand, as he regaled a complete stranger with some tale. Race, gender, religion or ethnicity didn’t matter. If Charlie found something in common with his fellow man or woman, the floodgates opened.
Charlie’s gift of gab likely led to the marriage of his mother-in-law. Charlie worked at the Queens, New York post office, where he eventually rose up the ranks and became a supervisor. I like to think that Charlie just started chatting it up with one of his employees, Frank Bertsch, one day— maybe about the New York Giants’ chances for a pennant that year, or Roosevelt’s New Deal, or the frightening new King Kong movie. Charlie must have sensed something wholesome and good about Frank that made him believe he would be a good match for his sweetheart’s mother, Catherine, who had been widowed for many years. He introduced the two, and not only did they hit it off, but they married within months of Charlie and Kay. Frank must have thought the world of Charlie, because the two couples then honeymooned together in Niagara Falls.
I am usually admonished by my children when I start up a conversation with someone random. They are embarrassed by me, they tell me, as if that enough should serve as a deterrent. Example A was a few months ago when we moved my older son into his freshman dorm. Momentarily baffled by the room layout, I walked down the hall to see how other people had set them up. The room right next door was strewn with unopened bedding, sports equipment, a case of ramen noodles, two parents and a fellow freshman. I walked right in and introduced myself. I asked the student to come to our room to check it out.
After he left, Zack took one look at me and hissed, “Mom, stop talking to people!”
“Oh no, not a chance,” I cheerily replied. I mean, really, the kid has known me for 18 years and thinks I’m suddenly going to stop being me? I proceeded to talk to the dean about freshmen orientation, the provost about the engineering program, and the chaplain about Sunday mass. I chatted with the ladies in the cafeteria and the students in the tech center. I made it my mission to talk to everyone I could, amid my son’s heavy eye rolling and occasional sighs. I find it so fulfilling that many weeks later, the student from next door is one of Zack’s best friends. Next year, they plan to room together.
So talk to that guy in accounting whom you’ve never met, but see every week. Ditto for the woman on the L with the oddly shaped instrument case. The guy might turn out to share your love of riding roller coasters and handcuff collecting, and the woman might be the bari sax virtuoso that your jazz ensemble desperately needs. There’s no telling when a conversation may lead you toward an unexpected future.
Katherine Mikkelson is an attorney-turned-writer who lives in Arlington Heights. She blogs at http://StateEats.com, which highlights food from all 50 states.
Back to Katherine's Page
Can not be reproduced or used without written permission Copyright, 2015 All rights reserved