So, there was a deaf British comic on Christian’s Portable Comedy lineup named Steve Day. His appearance is what prompted me to make a whole night out of Friday. I was fully prepared to applaud with my deaf jazz hands and “chat” the night away. Turns out he doesn’t even know sign language. He is 70% deaf since the age of 18 and hasn’t yet learned a single sign. Not one.
So I taught him how to say “fuck” and told him a story that made him laugh heartily. The kind of laugh that makes your eyes close, mouth open, and an embarrassingly loud bellow come from your belly. When I retold the story to a chick that walked up during his guffaw, she stared. Blinked. Smiled. Blinked. Hey, he got it, because he’s 70% deaf.
The story, which does not translate to the written word very well and is, therefore, shortened and dulled as follows:
A boy I consequently broke up with because he blinked too much — hard intense blinks with purpose and annoying frequency — once came to my place to pick me up for a date. My dad, rarely having the opportunity to be fatherly to a girl like me (fabulously and sometimes painfully independent), decided to greet my date and give me advice before I headed out to play video games and air hockey. He shook hands with said boy and glared menacingly before turning to me and signing stern advice which I ignore to this day.
His advice? “Don’t fuck.”
What I told the boy? “He said, “Nice to meet you.'”
And off on our merry way we went.