For the most part, Americans are really friendly.
I know it’s not the stereotype where I’m from, but I really do find most of them friendly. Americans strike up conversations easily and frequently and are often ready for a chat. That is one thing I love about being here. It really is okay to talk to strangers, and you don’t get glared down when you do. You just never know who you’re going to meet.
However, when the conversation is more than a random chit chat in a queue or other such encounter, they also talk a lot. A lot. And mostly about themselves. It can be very tiring to keep up the nodding, agreeing, oohing and aahing you feel you need to make in order to appear polite. Meanwhile, your sentence beginnings remain stuck in the back of your throat as you try and staccato out a phrase when you think it is finally your turn to speak only to find out that it was not.
So I was pleased when after being cooped up inside and only speaking to Gin, J and a girl on the phone all day I had a great chat with the guy who served me at Dosa Truck, a South Indian food truck that was out the front of Silver Lake Wine. It was a quiet time of night with barely any customers, so I stuck around to eat my dosa and had a nice conversation about Palm Springs, film sets, Australian versus New Zealand accents, taking public transport, the desert and food trucks.
There is something really invigorating about a good chat. Especially an unexpected one. I walked back to my car feeling really happy and I felt that knot of excitement at being somewhere new with millions of new people to meet return to me.
a little cameo 