Close quarters alter rules of polite discourse

Some conversations you just don't want to hear at work. There's the loud, full-of-himself manager joking that he doesn't know how to use the copier. There are the new parents at the employee appreciation dinner who discuss the contents of their babies' diapers throughout the entrée and dessert. There's the co-worker you can hear through the cube walls, describing her son's athlete's foot.

Just ignoring these folks seems like a logical solution, but sometimes that's not easy. Co-workers often form friendships that allow for more personal conversation. But they frequently forget that not everyone thinks these utterances are fascinating or appropriate. And proximity can make them more bothersome. You don't want to eavesdrop, but let's face it, these conversations are out there for public consumption.

Take lunchtime, for example. At one job, I usually brought my lunch, ate it quickly, and then went out for a walk. But on those winter days when the wind tunnels in Copley Square blew burly men into Clarendon Street, I preferred to relax, eat quietly, and read. Unfortunately, our office kitchen was the only place one could really eat in comfort, and, spacious though it was, hearing conversations was unavoidable.

Once, we were treated to an eyewitness account of a caesarean birth. Don't look beyond the sheet, the storyteller was warned, but she peeked anyway. And the blood! So much blood. Blood, blood, blood. Her friends asked pointed questions. ("Was there any blood?") My tuna sandwich became less appealing. One employee rewrapped her sandwich and left to eat in the supply room. Birth is beautiful, but the visuals are not for everyone.

Another time, we heard a play-by-play description of cremation while waiting for bosses to arrive at an employee meeting. As hard as I tried to tune it out, my mind kept focusing on the grisly scenario. My tablemate, sensing my discomfort, tried to steer the conversation away: "Whoa, Gary, that's enough sharing, buddy!" But I spent the whole meeting distracted by mental images I never wanted to see.

Workplace conversations aren't always outwardly stomach-turning. Sometimes they are annoying simply because the participants just can't talk about anything else. I've seen this in many brides-to-be. Once that diamond ring is on their finger, they become The Only Women In The World To Ever Get Married. I don't mind some small talk at the beginning -- after all, a wedding is a big event. But sometimes, there's a daily onslaught of dress colors (sky blue or periwinkle?), reception sites (by the ocean or by the lake?), and menu choices (chicken cordon bleu or chicken kiev?). Co-workers listen politely, but complain when the bride leaves.

To be fair, I can't say I've never irritated colleagues with my conversation topics. When I lived next door to a creepy guy who was way too interested in my life, I'd have to vent about the situation -- the little gifts left by my door or the comments made if I did my laundry on a Thursday instead of on a Tuesday. I know I wasn't the only one overjoyed when I moved out of that apartment.

Then there are the office conversations that really aren't conversations at all, but ways for some higher-ups to establish their roles and seem important. I remember a pair of middle managers who strove to justify their existence through sentences like, "They picked the wrong font, and I can't tell you how long it took to fix everything," and "Call over to Graham's office -- get his girl on the phone and tell her to give you the figure."

My co-workers and I exchanged eye-rolling glances and sarcastic smiles. I loved when these guys started talking computer language, figuring that we common folk were clueless. I always wanted to blurt out, "You know, we know what 'case-sensitive' means."

Discussion topics, and employees' reactions to them, can become more complicated when politics and social issues are involved. I was a fly on the wall one day when co-workers considered the term "prochoice" during lunch and an abortion opponent interjected.

"So are there different degrees of prochoice?" one co-worker asked.

"You mean prodeath," the opponent murmured without looking up.

Throughout the conversation, whenever "prochoice" was uttered, the opponent interrupted with "prodeath." Clearly, the original exchange was one this co-worker did not want to hear. Or, perhaps she felt her commentary would sway the participants to her point of view. Finally, they all agreed this was a topic not to be discussed at work.

Religion, another of those "don't discuss in polite company" subjects, came up frequently at one job where many of the employees shared the same faith. I got caught in the fray one Friday in Lent, as I was about to bite into a piece of chicken.

"Wait!" someone cried. "It's Friday!"

"It's OK," I said quietly.

"But that's chicken! You can't eat chicken on Friday during Lent!"

I was speechless. Many retorts came to my mind, and I was searching for the most diplomatic one when the others in the lunchroom took over.

"Well, you know, some people don't observe that."

"Well, don't they believe in Jesus?"

"I don't know what they believe."

I didn't know what to believe either. Why was this up for discussion?

It occurred to me how typical this was. People who might not have conversations otherwise are thrown together and make do with the time and space available, but the substance can get skewed.

Staring down at my chicken, I decided the most appropriate response was a silent one. I cut a piece and took a bite. It was delicious.

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