This is the first in a series called ‘Thrilling Conversations,’ where all the stories are random conversations. None of them have any connections or recurring characters. They’re just little slices of life.

“I’m an individual,” she said to me once.
     I corrected her and informed her this was not the case.
“So I’m not unique?” she inquired, her wall of defense well under construction.
     “Everyone is unique, in the DNA sense of the term. Individuality is more related to your personality, and it is my observation that most personalities are simply amalgams of previous encounters or influences, whether they be people you’ve met along the way or watched on television or…”
“So you’re saying I’m not an individual?” she replied, beginning to take offense.
     “So touchy…I’m simply saying that no one is an individual.”
“Just a copy of a copy of a copy,” in a droll tone.
     “Pretty much, except even if you try to copy someone else exactly, whether it be their style of dress or sense of humor or what have you, you’re only going to combine it with your own traits and idiosyncrasies and that will form a whole new personality…”
“…thus making it unique,” she answered smugly.
     “Sure, but how unique is someone that is just made up of traits already in existence?”
“Well, there is only so much under the sun.”
     “So you admit the term ‘unique’ only extends so far.” I smiled in the same smugness as I had just been subjected to.
“Sure, but I still believe that I’m unique, by this refined definition, of course.”
     “No, I believe that you think you are unique because of those bracelets you wear, or that t-shirt you bought earlier today. You might even believe that it’s the mix of CDs in your car that makes you unique. Those simply make you like everyone else.”
“And why is that?” she smirked, playing along with me.
     “Because those items are mass produced, and someone else is wearing those bracelets with that t-shirt at this very moment and thinking that they are unique too. Those bands on those CDs have hundreds, maybe thousands of fans spinning those tracks as we speak. Fandom of any kind is assimilation into a specific group, and often those groups are a part of larger groups and so on.”
“Example?”
     “Well, I’m a fan of both movies and metal music, and since I’m assuming I’m not the only fan of Swedish metal and Stanley Kubrick films, that’s another group, and so on and so forth.”
“I thought you hated conformity, Mr. Rebel-With-One-Too-Many-Causes.”
     “The term ‘conformity’ isn’t necessarily bad when applied in this sense, although I’d choose a less harsh word. It’s when you stop thinking for yourself and comply to whatever you are told is the ‘norm’ or ‘popular’ that I object to it morally. If I like something just because I like it, I don’t really see that as conforming.”
“OK, that I’ll give you.” She gazed at me intently, waiting for her next objection to come to mind. It came fairly quickly. “So would you say that there was ever such a thing as an original idea? Even clichés had to start somewhere.”
     “I would say that, but the reason they became clichés is because underneath the aforementioned likes and dislikes we’re all just human beings, and are therefore prone to perform the same actions and quite often make the same mistakes, feelings, observations, have similar dilemmas, etcetera. You could say that our humanity limits us and what we are capable of as much as it frees us from those of other species.” I was quite satisfied with this response, so she had to take me down a peg somehow.
“So what if some guy is a mental patient who thinks he’s a monkey?” she replied, grinning as she spoke.
     “Then maybe he’s better off,” I retorted.
“Any why’s that?” she questioned, feeling the sarcasm coming from miles away.
     “Because you question my sanity, but you accept his lack thereof.” I laughed, knowing what would come next.
“Do you blame me?” Yep, there it was.
     “Not at all. Unlike you, I don’t take everything personally, even if it’s meant to be taken as such.
“I do not!” she objected knowingly.
     “Isn’t that how this whole thing got started?”
She paused and pretended to think hard for a moment, rubbing her chin as if she were an over-acting mime. “Nope. You started it, now continue it – What makes someone unique, then, if jewelry and apparel do not?”
     “The way they express themselves, the way they view others and the world…because it’s not just influences in the form of friends, enemies, relatives, or idols that make the difference, but the events in their lives and how they perceive these events that shape who they are, and those events are truly unique.”
“We’re unique because of how we react and adapt to different situations?”
     “That’s what I’m sayin’, in my interpretation of things anyway.”
“So it’s actually the circumstances that are unique, not the people in them.”
     “Well, they’re products of this uniqueness, so therefore, they are unique by association.”
“My head hurts…let’s get off this topic,” she whined as her fingers massaged her forehead.
     “Oh, c’mon, we haven’t even scratched the surface yet. What about entropy?”
“What about it?”
     “Well, entropy attempts to measure the disorder and chaos that is life – the human need to make sense of everything we do not understand. And it’s obvious, even in this conversation, that we don’t even understand ourselves. Therefore, our identities are a form of entropy.”
“I think I follow…”
     “For example, think about the first day of a class. Some teachers try to break the ice by making you stand up, state your name, then describe yourself and your interests, which really just makes you more uncomfortable because you now have to come up with something to say on the spot that doesn’t make you look like a complete idiot.”
“The first impression is the one that lasts…”
     “Exactly. My point is that you sort through the chaos that is your life, through all the good and bad decisions you’ve made and all the situations that have made you you, and come up with a definition of yourself, even though none of us truly know ourselves and what we are capable of in every future situation…”
“…which is completely unpredictable.”
     “What is?”
“The future.”
     “Indeed…as are we. The situations are unpredictable, our identities that are a result are unpredictable, life in general and the ways of the world are completely unpredictable…yet here we are, trying to make sense of it all.”
“That is entropy,” she emphasized, smiling.
     “That,” I added, “is futility.”
Finally, our waitress placed our food in front of us, asked if we needed anything else, and left. We ate in relative silence for the duration of the meal.