Tell me about what you are studying,” the nurse said as she plunged the needle into my arm. “I am a dime a dozen government major in D.C.,” I responded, my vision starting to blur. “Oh, that’s really interesting!” she said, perhaps too enthusiastically. “I missed your vein. We have to start again on the left arm.”

The conversation — if it can be labeled one — abruptly ended only to begin again minutes later as she inserted another needle. To her credit, my nurse seemed keenly aware that I was susceptible to fainting and was attempting to distract me from the inevitable. “So tell me what you are studying again,” she said. Then, as is normally the case, I lost consciousness.

This happens to everyone I know at least several times a day. Not the fainting, but rather the conversation. We routinely engage in empty exchanges with strangers and friends. We ask questions without caring about the answers; we dispense answers without caring about the questions. Our words add no value.

Inane conversation is ubiquitous. It is in elevators, on subways, at parties and in classrooms — it’s inescapable. Empty dialogues are employed to fill painful silences and temper awkward situations. In general, shallow conversations are all variations on a theme and, as would be expected, are simple to identify.

The common practice is to initiate the discussion with an innocuous question or statement. If you have been asked a question, you answer plainly, smiling or nodding if the opportunity presents itself. Then, you parrot whatever question was asked of you, and the roles reverse. During the entire chat, it is essential to include a healthy mix of feigned intrigue and laughter when appropriate. Eventually, the interaction concludes when you spot your friends across the room, the elevator or metro reaches your destination or class finally starts.

At the beginning of the school year, freshman dorms are a rampant breeding ground for those empty conversations, as new students desperately try to latch onto each other in search of friends. Any coincidence or similarity — and sometimes even extreme differences, for that matter — are enough to spark a conversation. “Wait, you are from Pittsburgh? I think my aunt once-removed lives there.”

No one can be blamed for such discourses; we have all been guilty of talking to fill the silence. Entire friendships can be built around shared middle-child status or exotic tea-collecting hobbies. When two conversers are compatible, their conversation can slowly evolve and take on actual meaning.

Inane conversation isn’t entirely useless. Filling silences, lessening awkward moments and distracting a patient from the shard of metal jammed in his arm are praiseworthy goals. We may not value empty conversation for its own sake, but it serves as a means to a desirable end. In fact, our world without mindless interactions would actually be more boring than it is with them.

We all have a reserve of stock questions and answers that we pull out on a daily basis. Such programmed speech allows us to be instinctively polite and friendly. We know what to say because we have said it all before. We ask innocent, cheerful questions to strangers and expect standard responses. At times, we are surprised by certain reactions. As a result, we are more interested, glimpsing the potential for something beyond chatter. Perhaps value will materialize. Then again, maybe it will not. In the end, we want to have commodified conversations because we enjoy their effects: the hint of a smile flash across someone’s face, the chance at a new friendship or romantic encounter and words to occupy otherwise empty space. Next time you are alone in an elevator with someone, ask him or her a boring question. Maybe you will get a mechanical answer. In truth, you assuredly will. But that is okay. Virtually all relationships, even your truest friendships, begin with inane conversation.

My most meaningful friendship at Georgetown began with a simple question: “Where are you from?””Canada.” “Oh, I’ve been there.”

Continue to make shallow conversation. Life’s more interesting that way.

David Freenock is a senior in the College. CHRONICALLY ME appears every other Tuesday.