~In
which I learn that, yes, I am a dumbass and really slow on the uptake….
The
story today begins, as a worryingly large number of my stories do, in a coffee
house. My usual one nowadays, a quaint
little place, called Tate Street Coffee, off to the side of the local university, staffed mostly by
students and catering to the same, plus some professors and an eclectic variety
of local color. It’s a nice place, if
somewhat lacking in available electrical outlets for public use.
When the place first opened, back in the early ‘90s, that wasn’t really
much of a concern.
I was busy writing, as usual, and
caught a sideways glimpse of a young woman in a wheelchair as she came to a
stop beside a table near me, maybe 8 feet away from where I was sitting. Nothing
to pay much attention to, really. Just
another customer. So I returned to what
I was working on for another 30 seconds or so.
Out of the corner of my eye – for when you’re losing your hearing, your
subconscious really starts keeping track of things on the edge of your line of
vision – I noticed the woman looking pensively about, as if searching for
something or somebody. She seemed to be
in need of some help and nobody else seemed to be paying attention. So I did what any dumbass who keeps
forgetting his current situation would do – I looked up at her and asked, “Do
you need help?”
As soon as the words left my mouth,
I realized my mistake. A smarter man
than me would have seen this coming a mile away. Then again, a smarter man than me would
probably wait for his Americano to cool slightly before drinking to avoid burning
his throat. I fail to manage that one at
least once a week, so it’s probably best to keep any expectations of
intelligent behavior from me subdued, if not downright insultingly low.
She replied. And, of course, I had no idea what she was saying. As soon as I spoke, I knew I had just
committed a major faux pas and I was
already formulating my apology because I must have looked like a total
ass. I mean, who offers to help and then
immediately says he can’t help? How
twisted can a person be, mocking a handicapped person in this fashion? What perverse horrors lie in such a man’s
past to have turned him into this atrocious and sublimely-petty villain? And what would Batman have to say about my
nefarious actions?
As I rushed to explain myself, she
was already repeating what she said. Or
perhaps calling me a slack-jawed dickwhistle.
Either would have been reasonable reactions. Our exchange had already garnered the
attention of others nearby, and I briefly considered making a break for
it. In time, perhaps, the events of the
previous minute would be forgotten as the witnesses grew old and died out and
perhaps a nuclear holocaust took care of any others these witnesses might have
shared this story with. Then I could
return to collect my things and quietly sneak out the back door before dying in
the irradiated landscape of this blasted and blackened Earth.
After a moment, one of these
witnesses, an older gentleman, came over to move a chair away from the table so
the woman could maneuver her wheelchair up to it, bringing an end to what
passed for a dialogue between her and me.
I tried one last apology before just returning to my work and hoping
that whatever judge awaits me in the afterlife, he or she would have a
transcript of my thoughts (or lack thereof) immediately preceding my original
question and realize that, no, I’m not an asshole, I’m just really stupid.
My grasp of contemporary eschatology
might not set the world on fire, but it works well enough for me.
I’m not sure what to make of all
this, really, except that I ought to have internalized my hearing loss by
now. There’s really no excuse for slips
like this. If one wants to move through
this world with as much semblance of normalcy as possible, one must learn to
tread the line between the unavoidable exigencies of one’s situation and the
avoidable pitfalls resulting from it.
While I’ve never particularly cherished normalcy except as a way of
avoiding the bother of causing a ruckus, I still find myself occasionally wishing
that I didn’t have to always reflect on how my hearing will affect any given
situation. Partly because I’m too lazy
to make the considerable effort necessary to compensate for it, and partly
because, even after all this time, I’m still not quite used to my new reality.
Maybe I never will be. Mind you,
I accept it just fine. There’s no sense
in dwelling on something I can’t change.
But
good God, I need to learn to actually think before I open my fool mouth.
Of
course, everything I know about myself suggests that might be asking a bit much
of me. Maybe I should just embrace my
dumbassery and learn to make it work for
me rather than against me. That’s possible…right?
I’m
just going to assume it is. Makes the
prospect of losing even more of my hearing so much simpler to deal with.
~Fin~
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