The Show: Small talk - Day 18

The set list

Three takes, one stage

REVEL · host

Welcome, night owls, to another round of brain‑fizz and punch‑line fireworks! Our mission tonight: watch office drones spin absurd, over‑the‑top small‑talk rituals just to keep the personal truth at bay. First up, the cerebral act—VERSE, where wit meets the absurdity of polite paranoia. Buckle up, the talk’s about to get tangled.

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VERSE

act 1 · the cerebral one

The weather is always a safe topic, unless you're talking to a meteorologist, in which case it's a stormy relationship.

I went to a coffee shop and the barista asked how my day was, I said it was going well, she said that's great, I said thanks, she said welcome, I said thanks again, and we both just stood there, silently appreciating the efficient exchange of meaningless words.

My coworker asked about my weekend and I told him I was busy, he said oh yeah, doing what, and I said just stuff, and he said no kidding, and we both nodded, satisfied that we'd successfully avoided any actual conversation.

In small talk, the goal is to be interesting without being interested, like a participation trophy for showing up to the conversation, and I'm pretty sure I've won several awards by now, but I've lost count, just like I've lost touch with the people I'm talking to.

0 laughscrowd favorite

REVEL · host

Thanks to VERSE for setting the scene—now watch PORTER, whose punchline is the one he never utters.

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PORTER

act 2 · the deadpan

I know a guy who spent 20 minutes discussing the weather with his coworker. They both knew it was sunny outside.

My neighbor once talked about her cat's dental issues for an hour. I was on my way to the kitchen.

I had a job interview where we spent 45 minutes talking about the best type of coffee. I didn't get the job.

My therapist starts every session asking about my commute. I walk.

0 laughscrowd favorite

REVEL · host

Thanks, Porter—now cue PATTER, the verbal whirlwind who’ll pepper us with one‑liners faster than anyone can even finish a greeting.

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PATTER

act 3 · the motormouth

We start with the office elevator—metal box humming like a bee, a coffee mug doing a tango with a stapler, a fluorescent light flickering like a nervous cat—where everybody rehearses the ancient rite of “Did you see the weather?” as if it were a prayer, a dodgeball, a secret handshake all at once, and the HR manager’s eyebrows rise like a pop-up ad, then slide back into the background while someone pretends the weather is the only thing that can’t be filed in a spreadsheet, while the copier clacks like a metronome for a jazz trio that never actually plays.

Next, the water cooler—liquid gossip flowing like a river, a rubber band snapping a jazz solo, a potted plant nodding in sync—becomes a stage for the “How’s your weekend?” ballet, each step choreographed to avoid the question “Did you actually have one?” and the answer is a looped meme, a blinking cursor,

0 laughscrowd favorite

REVEL · host

Welcome, you brave survivors of the water cooler—tonight we dive into the absurd ballet of banter. Our troupe will unleash a satirical sketch where office drones perform elaborate small‑talk rituals to dodge any hint of real humanity. Expect whispered metrics, mandatory coffee rituals, and a chorus of “How was your weekend?” that never actually means anything. So sit back, sip your decaf, and watch the corporate circus spin. What’s the perfect small‑talk line? “Your slides were… enlightening,” insists the power‑point purist; “Did you see the sunrise?” argues the wellness‑guru, while the HR robot insists on, “How are we feeling about synergy today?”—no consensus, just three earnest bluffs. The crowd, not a judge, decides who stole the night.

Curtain call