Deaf Sentence

It’s finally happened; you covered your mouth with your hand one too many times. Or grew a beard. Or insisted on talking near traffic, children, or some hellish combination of the two. Actually, you could just be really mumbly. Whatever. The point is, I’ve had to tell you that I’m deaf. Here’s what you should avoid saying in response:

1) “What?”

A younger, angrier version of myself once vowed to punch anyone who said this squarely in their mumbly face. If you catch me on a bad day, I might still be tempted.

Why is it so bad? Well, because I’ve just confided in you about a disability that, while invisible unless you get REALLY close to my ears, massively affects my daily life. I’m on the back foot here, and you can’t even be bothered to make a decent joke. You just playgrounded me, and your lack of effort is insulting.

I believe no subject should be taboo when it comes to comedy. Take David Lynch’s turn as the desperately hard-of-hearing Gordon Cole in Twin Peaks. Even though he’s possibly the most offensive on-screen character since they let Mickey Rooney run racist riot all over Breakfast at Tiffany’s (don’t worry, I Googled it for you), he’s funny as all hell. He stomps around being in charge of important FBI things, yelling about chihuahuas and hitting on waitresses half his age. I can relate.

2) “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!”

I said “deaf”, not “dead”. Sounds like SOMEONE needs a hearing test.

3) “It’s okay, I never would have known.”

This one’s trickier, because it’s so well-meaning. I know what you’re trying to say; since the majority of my hearing loss occurred after I acquired speech, I don’t sound stereotypically deaf. You’re trying to be reassuring. Unfortunately, you just make me feel like I should be wearing a badge. Maybe one with a lovely Wal-Mart slogan like “Ask me about my sensory impairment!” And while that would certainly be helpful, it’s a little too National Socialist for my taste. While we’re on the subject, I have plenty of tattoos already and I don’t like camping.

I know, I know, it’s a minefield. We could have avoided all this if you’d just spoken clearly. In a brightly lit, completely silent room. Preferably with your hands tied behind your back. Ooh, like an interrogation cell in a hackneyed US crime drama. I could play the hard-boiled NYC cop with a hangover and 14 hours left to save the world, and you could be the beardy, heavily-accented terrorist cliché who keeps muttering about dirty bombs. And if I STILL can’t hear you, the guys behind the two-way mirror can probably help me out.

Coming up next time…SEX!!! And why it’s not just for people who can hear you coming.