218 CRUCIAL CONVERSATIONSWith a script, you know both sides of the conversation. You
know that the person at the counter is going to ask for your
order. You're certain that the perky young woman with the paper
hat is going to ask you if you want fries. Even if you include fries
in your original request, she's still going to ask, "Do you want
fries with that?" And if you say yes, you can bet the farm that
she's going to ask, "Do you want to super-size that?"
The good news about packing around scripts is that you don't
have to give conversation much thought. The bad news is that
the more scripted an interaction, the more difficult it is to pull
yourself out of the routine and try something new. For example,
as you walk up to a fast-food counter, your spouse reminds you
to ask for extra ketchup.
You step up to the counter and say: "I'll have two house spe
cials, three kiddy delights ... " and then you slip into autopilot.
The words that pour out of your mouth have no relation to your
thoughts. Your brain is somewhere else entirely. You're musing
over a menu that sports a sandwich made out of "ribs" that have
no bones. "What poor animal has boneless ribs?" you're think
ing to yourself.
And guess what? As you robotically state your order, one
word spilling out after another, you forget to ask for extra
ketchup. What do you expect from a person who's devoting no
real brain time to the interaction? In fact, your spouse's request
never even makes it onto your radar screen-which is currently
filled with images of Jell-O-like, ribless creatures mooing and
slithering across a backdrop painted by Salvador Dali.
Scripts place us on a smooth and familiar track. They take us
across known territory and at a comfortable pace-freeing our
brains for more novel work. But then again, when we're on rails,
we travel along the prescribed route with such finesse and ease
that it's almost impossible to make an unscheduled turn.