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‘What’s a good opening line when I meet people?’

I was once at a party where I spotted a fellow surrounded by a fan club of avid listeners. The chap was smiling, gesticulating, obviously enthralling his audience. I went over to hearken to this fascinating speaker. I joined his throng of admirers and eavesdropped for a minute or two. Suddenly, it dawned on me: the fellow was saying the most banal things! His script was dull, dull, dull. Ah, but he was delivering his prosaic observations with such passion. Therefore, he held the group spellbound. It convinced me that it’s not all what you say, it’s how you say it.

Often people ask me, ‘What’s a good opening line when I meet people?’ I give them the same answer a woman who once worked in my office always gave me. Dottie often stayed at her desk to work through lunch. Sometimes, as I was leaving for the sandwich shop, I’d ask her, ‘Hey Dottie, what can I bring you back for lunch?’

Dottie, trying to be obliging, would say, ‘Oh anything is fine with me.’

‘No, Dottie!’ I wanted to scream. ‘Tell me what you want. Ham and cheese? Chicken Salad with mayonnaise? Peanut butter with sliced bananas? Be specific. Anything is a hassle.’

Frustrating though it may be, my answer to the opening-line question is ‘Anything!’ because almost anything you say really is OK – as long as it puts people at ease and sounds passionate.

How do you put people at ease? By convincing them they are OK and that the two of you are similar. When you do that, you break down walls of fear, suspicion, and mistrust.

Why banal makes a bond

Samuel I. Hayakawa was a college president, U.S. senator, and brilliant linguistic analyst of Japanese origin. He tells us this story that shows the value of, as he says, ‘unoriginal remarks.’¹¹

In early 1942, a few weeks after the beginning of World War II – at a time when there were rumours of Japanese spies – Hayakawa had to wait several hours in a railroad station in Oshkosh, Wisconsin. He noticed others waiting in the station were staring at him suspiciously. Because of the war, they were apprehensive about his presence. He later wrote, ‘One couple with a small child was staring with special uneasiness and whispering to each other.’

So what did Hayakawa do? He made unoriginal remarks to set them at ease. He said to the husband that it was too bad the train should be late on so cold a night.

The man agreed.

‘I went on,’ Hayakawa wrote, ‘to remark that it must be especially difficult to travel with a small child in winter when train schedules were so uncertain. Again the husband agreed. I then asked the child’s age and remarked that their child looked very big and strong for his age. Again agreement, this time with a slight smile. The tension was relaxing.

After two or three more exchanges, the man asked Hayakawa, ‘I hope you don’t mind my bringing it up, but you’re Japanese, aren’t you? Do you think the Japs have any chance of winning this war?’

‘Well,’ Hayakawa replied, ‘your guess is as good as mine. I don’t know any more than I read in the papers. But the way I figure it, I don’t see how the Japanese, with their lack of coal and steel and oil … can ever beat a powerfully industrialized nation like the United States.’

Hayakawa went on, ‘My remark was admittedly neither original nor well informed. Hundreds of radio commentators … were saying much the same thing during those weeks. But just because they were, the remark sounded familiar and was on the right side so that it was easy to agree with.’

The Wisconsin man agreed at once with what seemed like genuine relief. His next remark was, ‘Say, I hope your folks aren’t over there while the war is going on.’

‘Yes, they are,’ Hayakawa replied. ‘My father and mother and two young sisters are over there.’

‘Do you ever hear from them?’ the man asked.

‘How can I?’ Hayakawa answered.

Both the man and his wife looked troubled and sympathetic. ‘Do you mean you won’t be able to see them or hear from them until after the war is over?’

There was more to the conversation but the result was, within ten minutes they had invited Hayakawa – whom they initially may have suspected was a Japanese spy – to visit them sometime in their city and have dinner in their home. And all because of this brilliant scholar’s admittedly common and unoriginal small talk. Top Communicators know the most soothing and appropriate first words should be, like Senator Hayakawa’s, unoriginal, even banal. But not indifferent. Hayakawa delivered his sentiments with sincerity and passion.

Ascent from banality

There is no need, of course, to stay with mundane remarks. If you find your company displays cleverness or wit, you match that. The conversation then escalates naturally, compatibly. Don’t rush it or, like the Mensans, you seem like you’re showing off. The bottom line on your first words is to have the courage of your own triteness. Because, remember, people tune in to your tone more than your text.

Technique 11:

Prosaic with passion

Worried about your first words? Fear not, since 80 percent of your listener’s impression has nothing to do with your words anyway. Almost anything you say at first is fine. No matter how prosaic the text, an empathetic mood, a positive demeanour, and passionate delivery make you sound exciting.

‘Anything, except liverwurst!’

Back to Dottie waiting for her sandwich at her desk. Sometimes as I walked out the door scratching my head wondering what to bring her, she’d call after me, ‘Anything, except liverwurst, that is.’ Thanks, Dottie, that’s a little bit of help.

Here’s my ‘anything, except liverwurst’ on small talk. Anything you say is fine as long as it is not complaining, rude, or unpleasant. If the first words out of your mouth are a complaint, BLAM, people label you a complainer. Why? Because that complaint is your new acquaintance’s 100 per cent sampling of you so far. You could be the happiest Pollyanna ever, but how will they know? If your first comment is a complaint, you’re a griper. If your first words are rude, you’re a creep. If your first words are unpleasant, you’re a stinker. Open and shut.

Other than these downers, anything goes. Ask them where they’re from, how they know the host of the party, where they bought the lovely suit they’re wearing – or hundreds of etceteras. The trick is to ask your prosaic question with passion to get the other person talking.

Still feel a bit shaky on making the approach to strangers? Let’s take a quick detour on our road to meaningful communicating. I’ll give you three quickie techniques to meet people at parties – then nine more to make small talk not so small.