If you haven’t read your emails in the last month, then there’s a chance you don’t know me. If you have, you might recognize the name Corinne even if you don’t want to.
I ran Screw Your Roommate this year because I wanted our campus to experience what it’s like to engage in pointless conversation. What do I mean? Discussions that don’t necessarily lead to anything but are interesting for what they are. If you have enough pointless conversations, you start to build a bond. One day, you’ll be looking at your friend in the booth, with your legs propped up onto the pleather upholstery, and realize that you’ve known him for three years. Those are three years of mainly pointless conversations, but ones you loved.
You’ll remember how you met. You wanted to ask the guy leaving class a question, but your friend was the other person left, so to make things more friendly, you talked to him too. That guy stuck around for way less time than your friend — in that moment and in the long run. He’s a huge reason why you took those brutal honors seminars. You’d say it brought the two of you together. He’ll become a famous writer soon. Then, you’ll be able to brag about knowing him. But you already brag about him.
Back then, he was just the cool person sitting in the back of the classroom. You asked him about the Cocteau Twins or Marxism or whatever you could grasp at a question about, and he answered thoughtfully, placing his hand over his mouth in his cheeky, charming way. And the conversation was utterly pointless.
Another time you engaged in an empty conversation was a few days ago at Sci. Someone in the line asked about coffee, or maybe food, you can’t remember. But you do know you ended up talking for over 30 minutes about your best friends, and how she’s had the same one for decades. Now, their daughters are best friends. You said you want that, too. You’ll have that, too.
It made you call your best friend a few days ago, all giggly. You said you missed her because nobody gets you in the way she does. When you two hung out for the first time, you tried so hard to impress her that you fell into a flower pot. At least it had no soil in it. You talked about nothing you can remember; she tried boba and nearly spit it out. It’s been ten years since. She’ll be your maid of honor. You’ll join a retirement community in Florida together if you start planning now.
You debated aging with a friend who’s now graduated. He said he didn’t know if he’d be able to relate to “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” once he grows up and leaves here. You agreed. That same night, he challenged you to run a half marathon because, “You’ll never know if you can do it if you don’t try.” You doubt he remembers most of this conversation, but it was a top-tier dinner for you. He’s a philosopher, waxing poetic about all of the right things in the world.
But Mom tells you to read Kant, who has his own views on universal rights and wrongs. You ask her to explain it, and never remember her response. You joke that you “Kant” understand Kant. Still, you’re always interested in hearing her answer. She says she doesn’t really like philosophy, but she seems to know a lot about it. You want to study religion for that reason, to explore universalist thought. A few days ago, when someone asked what you two usually discuss, you said everything and nothing.
You went to your professor’s office hours today, and he said something similar. He seemed to want to talk about everything too, especially the stuff that didn’t matter. When he argued for nothingness, it felt like substance. Doesn’t spirituality matter? The conversation shifted to the meaning of life, something you do find significant. You felt seen in a way you don’t often. You wonder if meaning always starts from nothing.
It reminded you of that news piece you wrote on the night market last week. You figured you’d interview people in the ville because, “Why not?” When you dropped off issues of The Phoenix last Saturday morning, they all smiled. They’re excited to see you in The New York Times someday. “I wish.” Your cheeks turned red with a joy you can only experience from strangers. Pure. The type that feels pointlessly kind.
You wrote this piece on your phone as a free thought experiment. The article title is deceiving. It’s not advice for matchmaking. Instead, you think it’s for connection, that thing you’re always rattling on about. You’re not sure why it sticks, but you know it’s important to cultivate it. Maybe that’s why you ran Screw. It felt like a silly tradition, but all connections are generative.
You don’t know if you have every answer, but you put yourself in uncomfortable situations to grow. You don’t always get it right because nobody can. Still you try, and the sum of your tries defines your relationships. Good things take significant, insignificant time.
But maybe you’re not me. The you this article presupposes could be one you can’t fathom. Nevertheless, I’d like to believe that not every conversation needs to go somewhere. The ones stuck in pointlessness can offer a level of sentimentality that you’ll only realize months or even years from now.
Whether your date went well or horribly wrong, you likely had a pointless conversation. It might have meaning in the future, or it might always remain in the past. Life’s spontaneity lies in the journey. Your date could have a friend to introduce you to, or the experience could springboard you into shooting your shot. If nothing at all comes from it, that’s alright too. The fact that you made an effort means more than if you’d never tried in the first place. Cheers to you!
