[inquisitive piano and gentle brass]
[shimmery music]
[harsh wind blowing]
- Esteban: As I step out of the deep freeze
and unwrap six layers of winter gear in the lobby,
I see Wendy from HR approaching.
It's on; I'm trapped.
It's time for small talk.
[phone ringing]
Am I scared? Of course.
This is not your average banter.
[pouring coffee] This is Wisconsin small talk,
and I'm facing Wendy herself,
[baseball organ music] the queen of chit-chat.
She's in the big leagues.
As she approaches with the warmest smile,
I start to sweat.
["Charge (Fanfare)"] This is not amateur hour.
- "Esteban!" - She shouts, eyes sparkling.
- I almost didn't make it.
I have no idea why I even got out of bed today.
- Esteban: She says, pointing at the blizzard outside.
This is why she's a legend.
Not even a "Hey!"
No sign of a "Oh, how are you?"
The worst thing about Wisconsin's winter
is not that it sucks; it does.
It's that you're forced to talk about it... a lot.
But I don't even flinch.
I've been training.
Big smile, hands on hips, strong eye contact.
The only thing that got me out of bed,
I say, skipping a beat for maximum effect...
was coffee! [Wendy laughs hysterically] She bursts into laughter.
Oh, how we chuckle and howl.
Maybe Wendy from HR has finally met her match.
When I arrived in Madison six years ago,
I was unprepared.
When animals meet, they growl,
display their plumage,
or sniff butts.
Small talk in Wisconsin
seemed like a similar show of dominance,
and I wanted no part of it.
As an immigrant from South America,
I tried hard to avoid it,
arriving late to all meetings,
speaking Español to my Uber driver,
or keeping it under 12 items so I could use
[scanner beeps] the self-checkout machine at the grocery store.
As Wendy and I move slowly down the hall,
I feel like I'm doing great.
She talks about the unpredictability of March.
I mention Al Gore,
and we share a moment of silence for the polar bears.
- Wendy sympathetically: Ohhh...
- I wonder to myself why Wisconsinites are so keen on this.
There's no need for small talk where I'm from.
Quito, Ecuador is a pretty big cosmopolitan city
where we kiss hello with strangers,
quickly compliment each other and go on our way.
Our social connections involve salsa music, Catholicism,
and all those germs from smooching strangers.
[salsa music]
When Wendy and I reach the end of the hallway,
I realized we're going in opposite directions,
but we linger.
Too much is on the line,
and I will not go gently into that.
- Wendy: Have a good day!
- Esteban: But I must confess,
compared to the frozen gray outside,
Wendy's casual banter is making me feel warm inside
and I start to understand.
I imagine early settlers who,
after setting up and getting comfortable
during the Wisconsin summer,
endured their first winter weather.
[snowstorm blusters]
What stopped them from packing up and heading south?
Maybe someone rolled their eyes mid-blizzard and joked,
"Nice day out there, huh?"
And the extended chatter that followed
lasted until it was time to collect berries,
split logs, go fishing,
and run from bears, or whatever.
[cartoon skedaddle sound]
Wendy helped me understand that.
Sure, the weather sucks,
but that's a small price to pay for the ability
to connect with your neighbors about how much it sucks.
As far as who won our small talk showdown,
[audio played in fast forward] neither of us gave it up.
So, after 42 minutes and two follow-up emails,
[incoming email chimes] we decided
we are getting married!
["Here Comes the Bride"]
We're looking at dates for next summer,
or, as we here in Wisconsin like to call it,
road construction season.
[pipe organ plays "Bridal Chorus", jackhammering]
[shimmery music]
[inspirational vocalizing]