If you ever need to know whether someone has a touch of the tism, ask how they feel about small talk. Don’t necessarily listen to the words, but 99.9% of the time you can trust the body language. A neurotypical will either A) smile broadly and virtue-signal their outsider chic identity or B) seem confused for about three seconds, then ignore the question and plow on. An aspie will visibly recoil, their face will darken, and their brows will furrow. They will either try to rationalize small talk according to some kind of retarded libertarian principle or evince an honest hatred. The truth is that small talk angers us more than anything, to such a ridiculous extent that it could be reasonably described as the leading cause of aspie suicide.
For neurotypicals, the primary consideration in conversation is emotional coherence: expression, mirroring, point and counterpoint. Information content is incidental at best. For aspies, the transfer of tribal and institutional knowledge is primary. When we converse with each other, it’s not unusual for one aspie to sit silently while the other improvises a 10-minute lecture on one of our subjects of expertise. And let me tell you, they’re both loving every second of it. It’s just the way we are. Neurotypicals hate dry exposition of information with the same intensity that aspies hate small talk. And this is why aspies and neurotypicals will never live together in peace, not in a million years.
As Nottuh once expressed so eloquently, “I’m not interested in talking about the weather, I want information.” If someone on the spectrum talks about the weather, you’ll know it because they enjoy the subject immoderately or they’re survivalists, or both.