If I ever run into you, the conversation should also be running for its life, screaming for help. My thoughts are slow, but my goodbyes are Olympic. Saves time for thinking, you know. Nothing dies slower than a meaningless conversation, so I do it a favor and kill it quick.
But I’m not pretending I’m above it. I do know people who treat goodbyes like background noise and dive into a story about their uncle’s dog. Five minutes after I’ve already said goodbye, somehow I’m starring in 101 Goodbyes and Counting.
The problem with such conversations is that they don’t die cleanly. They stumble over the same goodbye again and again before finally collapsing into awkward silence. And the worst part? It’s never anything important keeping them alive.
And just to be clear, this isn’t about our best friends. This is about the familiar strangers. The people we recognize, smile at, and then instantly regret because now we are locked in a story loop.
All I am saying is that goodbyes should have rules. Three strikes, you’re out. That’s it. I’ll see you again only if I’m foolish enough to take the same route. And trust me, next time I’ll watch my route, since this conversation clearly didn’t watch its own.
Have you ever been there? Locked in a conversation-cell, planning an escape like it’s a prison break. You have got the plan in your head, not sure if it’ll work.
And you bet the odds, you make your first move. The polite, “well…” followed by a look around to make them realise that maybe it’s time. And you get a “No, where have you been?”. Which marks the real beginning of the meeting.
And I’m tempted. Just once, for someone to have the courage to reply: “Come on, dude. We hardly know each other. Where have I been? I’ve been Googling how to fake my own death.”
You wait for some time, and you pull off your second move, knowing well it’s doomed to fail. You glance at your watch, give them a polite smile, and even throw in the shoulder tap, like you actually care. The message is clear: “It’s late, I really have to go.” And your almost-friend looks at you with sympathy like, it’s not late, it’s story time.
Now, the third attempt, that’s where most people give in. They either flee, or they just stand there, silently cursing their destiny.
But you know this is it. This has to end now. So you gather every ounce of strength, take a deep breath, and look them dead in the eye. This is your last card, your final move. The words come out desperate: “See you then…”
And for a moment, there’s silence. No follow-up story, no “oh, and..” Just blessed, awkward silence, the sound of freedom.
Well, it happened to me this evening. Same prison-cell conversation, same failed escape attempts, same final, trembling “See you then.” And yes, I made it out alive. Luckily, my parole was approved.