Are you an early arriver to class? Or do you rush in breathless, five minutes late? If you’re in the former category, you’ve probably experienced the pre-seminar silence.

This is usually how it goes: You walk into section five-to-seven minutes early. It’s quiet; very quiet. There are a few students in the room already, busily clicking away on their laptops or tinkering on iPhones. You pick a seat, not too near the other people but not necessarily too far away. You wait a moment or two and then follow suit by pulling out your own distraction. More students slowly filter into class. There’s still no conversation. Eventually a professor or TA rushes in, the clock strikes the appointed minute and class commences.

These first five minutes of silence before a class — or a meeting, or a seminar, or whatever it is — can drag on forever. Such a silence is strange to me. Everyone is in the room together; everyone will soon hear the same lecture and everyone may even engage in a lively debate with one another. But some powerful force holds back any form of preliminary chatter.

Sadly, few try to break the metaphorical ice of silence.  And with each new person who walks in the door, the ice becomes thicker. If you walk into a room full of silent people, will you start making conversation? Probably not. Let someone else talk, if they want. It’s not your responsibility.

But even if you did want to strike up a conversation, where would you begin? Often you’re in a room with a bunch of people you barely know. Sitting in this room of strangers, your only commonality is the homework for the class. This makes conversation very difficult to start. What would you even say?

“Hey, what’d you think of reading for this week? I totally love democratic peace theory!”

No. Did you seriously expect to bond with the person next to you over the reading? It won’t happen. Even if the person also liked the reading, no one wants to be labeled as that kid — you know, the kid who actually does all the reading.

So you decide to try the opposite approach.

“Dude, the reading for this week was so boring. Can you believe people actually study this crap?”

Also no. First of all, you might offend someone who secretly loved the reading. But more importantly you risk the possibility that the professor will walk in precisely as you make your pronouncement. No amount of office hours would save this blunder.

But wait, you say, what is this pressure to make conversation before section? Sometimes you’re using your computer before class for an urgent and pressing need: You allotted those five minutes to send 14 emails, compose three “happy birthday” messages on Facebook and order a new pair of pants. You don’t have time to talk to the people sitting next to you — you’re busy and important! And those five minutes of idle chatter aren’t in your Google Calendar, so they’re not an option.

The thing is, not everyone is that busy. Last week I arrived at a seminar class on the early side; there were three people in the room, and everyone was sitting in silence, glued to a laptop screen. I was disappointed that no one felt the need to talk to anybody else, and so my eyes naturally wandered to the laptop screen of the girl next to me.

She was rapidly scrolling back and forth over her Facebook newsfeed. No typing, no composing, no scrutinizing of content. Did she just want to avoid conversation by seeming busy?

I don’t know. And I certainly can’t generalize from her behavior. What I can say is that a few minutes of friendly conversation is worth the investment, and sometimes it just takes one bit of dialogue to break the ice in the room.

I redirected my attention away from Facebook-idling girl and looked at someone else across the room. He was eating a burrito while trying to type something on his computer.

“Hey, what kind of burrito is that?” I ventured.

Everyone looked up from their computers. Did someone just say something? The burrito-eating guy looked a little surprised but finally told me: chicken. Ten seconds later he was asking me about something else related to the class. Soon we were engaged in full-fledged conversation. The silence was overcome, and all it took was one first move.

Do you want to break the conversational ice with Miriam? Send her an email at melloram “at” stanford “dot” edu.