Maggie Rants [and Raves]

Nothing in Common

by Maggie Franklin | February 27, 2015 | Bookmark +

Once upon a time, I worked at a small nails-only salon in Hermosa Beach, Calif. (Hi girls!) It was a busy little shop with five of us working in about 300 square feet.

It was a great place to work. I got to watch sail boats on the Pacific Ocean all day and I worked with an awesome team of techs under the direction of a very inspiring salon owner who set a great example as a business owner.

I remember her taking me aside one afternoon after I’d been there for a few months — sort of an informal job review. We sat on the bench outside the salon on the second-floor balcony overlooking Aviation Boulevard as we chitchatted about how I was doing there.

For the most part, she had glowing things to say about me and my fabulous skills — but she had one small concern: Maybe I wasn’t exactly hitting the nail on the head when it came to casual conversation.

It’s true. I tend to eschew all common wisdom about avoiding controversial topics. Even then, I didn’t watch much TV, so talking about Melrose Place (yeah, it was that long ago) wasn’t really an option for me. I was taking college courses at the time. I could talk about geology. And Bill Nye the Science Guy (swoon...it’s true, The Science Guy is my one true love). But I’ve never been good at giving two cares about which celebrity is dating/divorcing/cheating on whom. I don’t watch soap operas. I don’t follow sports. It can be difficult to find common ground for a conversation with me.

Except people keep managing it. I’m happy to have a conversation with my clients about my clients — their lives, their families, their jobs, their hobbies. I’m happy to have a conversation with my clients about me — my life, my family, my job, my hobbies. For 22 years, I have managed to find something to talk about with almost everyone.

But my then-salon owner/boss informed me that one of the salon’s clients — we’ll just call her “Nancy” — had specifically complained to the salon owner that she couldn’t talk to me. My salon owner was keen to mention that Nancy had zero complaints about my work; she just couldn’t hold a conversation with me.

I was crushed. I thought Nancy and I got along famously! We always were able to talk and she always seemed genuinely happy to see me.

It wasn’t until a year later, after I’d moved back home to Visalia, that I had an epiphany one day. Ohhh! That “Nancy!” All those months, I’d thought the salon owner had meant the Nancy who was ordinarily her client. That Nancy had only had me do her nails a couple of times, so I thought that’s who we were talking about.

But there was another Nancy. An insipid, vapid, dunderheaded blonde Nancy who was the very caricature of the Southern California beach babe bimbo. THAT was the Nancy my salon owner had been talking about!

I wish I’d realized that at the time, because that Nancy was an idiot. She was absolutely right! She couldn’t hold a conversation with me. Believe me, I tried! I tried to talk to her about anything. That woman didn’t understand what I meant when I said, “It’s raining today.”

Sometimes you just don’t have anything in common with someone. Sometimes it’s because that person is dumber than a box of tips. Sometimes it’s because you just don’t have anything in common with each other.

The other day I found myself floundering to keep conversation flowing. No matter what I said, the lady on the other side of the desk kept looking at me with big doe eyes like I was speaking in Swahili. It was all I could do to keep from shouting at her, “Then talk about something you care about!”

I thought of Nancy from so long ago.

Then I thought about the sail boats on the ocean. And stopped worrying about talking about anything.

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