Moments arise, of course, when even conversationalists extraordinaire hit the wall. Some folks' monosyllabic grunts leave slim pickings even for masters of the Be a Word Detective technique.
If you find yourself futilely fanning the embers of a dying
conversation (and if you feel for political reasons or human compassion that the conversation should continue), here's a foolproof
trick to get the fire blazing again. I call it "Parroting" after that
beautiful tropical bird that captures everyone's heart simply by
repeating other people's words.
Have you ever, puttering around the house, had the TV in the
background tuned to a tennis game? You hear the ball going back
and forth over the net—klink-klunk, klink-klunk, klink . . . this
time you don't hear the klunk. The ball didn't hit the court. What
happened? You immediately look up at the set.
Likewise in conversation, the conversational ball goes back and
forth. First you speak, then your partner speaks, you speak . . . and
so it goes, back and forth. Each time, through a series of nods and
comforting grunts like "um hum," or "umm," you let your conversation partner know the ball has landed in your court. It's your
"I got it" signal. Such is the rhythm of conversation.
78
How to Never Need
to Wonder, "What Do
I Say Next?"
✰20
02 (043-92B) part two 8/14/03 9:17 AM Page 78
Copyright 2003 by Leil Lowndes. Click Here for Terms of Use.
How to Never Need to Wonder, "What Do I Say Next?" 79
"What Do I Say Next?"
Back to that frightfully familiar moment when it is your turn to
speak but your mind goes blank. Don't panic. Instead of signaling verbally or nonverbally that you "got it," simply repeat—or
parrot—the last two or three words your companion said, in a
sympathetic, questioning tone. That throws the conversational ball
right back in your partner's court.
My friend Phil sometimes picks me up at the airport. Usually
I am so exhausted that I rudely fall asleep in the passenger seat,
relegating Phil to nothing more than a chauffeur.
After one especially exhausting trip some years ago, I flung
my bags in his trunk and flopped onto the front seat. As I was
dozing off, he mentioned he'd gone to the theater the night before.
Usually I would have just grunted and wafted into unconsciousness. However, on this particular trip, I had learned the Parroting technique and was eager to try it. "Theater?" I parroted
quizzically.
"Yes, it was a great show," he replied, fully expecting it to be
the last word on the subject before I fell into my usual sleepy
stupor.
"Great show?" I parroted. Pleasantly surprised by my interest,
he said, "Yes, it's a new show by Stephen Sondheim called Sweeney
Todd."
"Sweeney Todd ?" I again parroted. Now Phil was getting fired
up. "Yeah, great music and an unbelievably bizarre story. . . ."
"Bizarre story?" I parroted. Well, that's all Phil needed. For
the next half an hour, Phil told me the show's story about a London barber who went around murdering people. I half dozed, but
soon decided his tale of Sweeney Todd's cutting off peoples' heads
was disturbing my sleepy reverie. So I simply backed up and parroted one of his previous phrases to get him on another track.
"You said it had great music?"
02 (043-92B) part two 8/14/03 9:17 AM Page 79
That did the trick. For the rest of the forty-five-minute trip to
my home, Phil sang me "Pretty Women," "The Best Pies in London," and other songs from Sweeney Todd—much better accompaniment for my demi-nap. I'm sure, to this day, Phil thinks of
that trip as one of the best conversations we ever had. And all I did
was parrot a few of his phrases.