How to Never Need to Wonder, “What Do I Say Next?”

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.

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How to Never Need

to Wonder, "What Do

I Say Next?"

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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?"

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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.