Awkwardness.

Frozen, half-participants, unsure, or, conversely, overly sure, misfiring repeatedly, talking in streaks of stubborn refuge; eyes seeking something, damnit, in the belt buckles, shoe laces, texture of jean cloth, the slight bulge of probiscus--the attention, paid most formally, is to not invalidating oneself prior to validating, to speaking too much, revealing inner thoughts about assessment--inner thoughts about how one views other person's inner thoughts, that is, and how those inner thoughts, having been viewed, might be reacted to, all the while masquerading high level dedication to the articulation of small talk, rounded lips for the sake of exactly, well, nobody.  All of the half sweats and false humility in the world won't stop those thoughts.  They'll keep cruisin through and spread themselves in fine ashen layers.  But eventually those layers will build up and slow down incoming data, and there will be a few moments to reflect, to see the situation, that is, as if not within it.