Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER.
“How was the trip to Barcelona?” he asks.
I begin to answer, but only half heartedly. I know where this conversation is going. He’ll wait till I need to take a breath and then he will rectify our roles. He will talk and I will listen.
He will tell me about his trip to Barcelona.
About how he spent $600 on wine.
About how he went to an exclusive restaurant owned by a man he used to do business with.
About how he had a chance encounter with a celebrity who thought he was funny.
The longest stories I’ve ever heard have been told by men who think women talk too much.
After five minutes my cheeks start to hurt from smiling attentively.
After ten minutes I find myself agonising over eye contact.
After fifteen minutes I notice my computer screen has gone to sleep.
I try to wind it down. I break eye contact, I look at my watch, and I say ‘wow, sounds like a great trip’ in a tone that I feel conveys finality. Tone only works if someone is listening to you.
He keeps going. We’ve someone moved away from Barcelona and are now onto the topic of his son.
The anecdotes keep coming. I’ve heard 60% of them before so at least I know where I’m meant to laugh.
Eventually he glances beyond my head to the computer screen of someone else.
“Oh I’ve got to get to another meeting. Sorry” he says.
Sorry? As if I was the one talking and he had interrupted.
Sorry? As if he was apologising my life would be a pit of boredom without his comedic stylings.
As he turns to leave he gazes at my desk to where a scarf is spilling out of my handbag.
“God, women’s handbags are always full of shit”