I once went out with a man whom I now call “Boron.”
Boron is a superhero with the power to bore anyone to death. I met him at a loud party. Because conversation wasn’t possible over the booming bass, we danced. We exchanged numbers, and I left knowing only that he was cute and a good dancer.
He called a few days later, and we decided to meet for drinks. The trouble began after five minutes of small talk, when he revealed the big “B” on his chest and began to tell his life story.
Good conversation combines good communication skills and good chemistry. If you meet a hot, sexy person, the true test is whether or not you like what he or she has to say. Is the conversation forced or natural? Does he/she talk about things you can relate to, using logic you agree with? I don’t care how cute he is, if you can’t carry on a decent conversation, you should never date.
When I went out with Boron, he lost me after his sophomore year of college. I think he transferred, or got kicked out, or built a hydrogen bomb or something.
Hell, I don’t remember. I don’t care. All I know is that his monotone voice and lackluster stories sent my mind to wander. I uttered the occasional “uh huh” and “really?” to hide my inattention.
“And when I was in college …”
Wow, he’s really an attractive man. Nice complexion. I wonder if he gets facials. Pretty smile.
“… and then I decided that an undeclared major was the way to go …”
It’s fascinating how he’s been talking for 15 minutes without taking a breath.
“… so I talked to my parents about it, and they said …”
Where the hell is that bartender?
“… my buddies on the chess team agreed that I should only take 12 hours that semester …”
Why does he keep scratching that area on his arm? Should I offer my lotion? No, maybe it’s a medical condition.
“… joined the Peace Corps because I love people. I guess I’m just a mercenary at heart …”
Did he just say he’s a mercenary? Maybe I should be listening.
“… but I decided to do Salvation Army volunteer work instead …”
Never mind, I think he meant missionary.
When I finally got a word in for the first time that evening, I told him the wine was making me sleepy.
Boron, clearly wanting to continue his conversation, suggested that we grab dinner. I firmly refused after imagining myself using a butter knife to slit my wrists before the appetizer. He released me from his clutches, and I was never happier to be safely inside my car … alone.
Boron was a nice, well-meaning guy who tried to be impressive, although his one-way conversation was self-absorbed and uninspiring.
A better communicator would have noticed my non-verbal clues–yawning, gazing over his shoulder, resting my head in my hands, fiddling with the drink menu–and chosen a different conversation path.
Preferably one that encouraged my participation.
I ran into Boron recently. He’s still attractive, single and extremely talkative. He told me about all of his (boring) new projects.
As I walked away, I realized that he hadn’t asked what I was up to. But that’s OK, although I’m curious to know if he’d recognize himself in this column. I would guess not. He’s probably too busy talking.
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theginaspot@tribune.com
