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Words Are Very Unnecessary

On our way home from Dave’s one-month checkup with his hepatologist in Fort Wayne, we stopped at Subway for lunch. Although we like the food, Dave kind of hates going there because the ordering process confounds him. They ask a lot of questions, and for someone with hearing loss that’s a real drag.

I have an easier time with this kind of thing (as long as it’s in person) because I lipread, so I am usually the one to order. I just consult Dave first to make sure what he wants, or if he starts to order himself then I will relay the questions to him if he misses them.

Since it was just a light lunch, we did our usual and got the same sandwich in the foot-long size, and then split it. This location had a drive-through but we decided to go inside because I really struggle to understand anything through those speakers.

We were the only customers, and as we walked up to the counter the guy started talking. I wasn’t close enough to read his lips and had no clue what he said (he was talking really fast and also had a bit of a southern accent). I did my usual and just assumed what he probably said based on my past visits to Subway.

Well yes, I can relate to this.

Well yes, I can relate to this.

I told him the type of sandwich we wanted and the type of bread. He said something else that I missed, but I knew they usually asked about cheese and I thought I’d caught part of his question. “Did you say something about pepperjack cheese?” He nodded, and I confirmed that we wanted it. Then he asked if we wanted it toasted, which caught me off guard. I had to have him repeat the question a couple of times. After I answered him, I added, “I’m deaf and I’m reading your lips, so that’s why I sometimes miss what you say.”

Now, usually I add that I have cochlear implants and I hear with them; that way people know that I do hear sound but they also know that I’m reading their lips as well. But I figured eh, this is just a quick lunch order and why go into all that detail? Here’s what happened when I just let that statement hang in the air without further clarification:

The guy stopped talking.

He had been keeping up a constant patter while we were there, which was making it hard for me to tell if he was asking a question, making a comment about our order, or even perhaps just talking to himself. My statement silenced him, and what a gift it was!

He quietly made the sandwich and just kind of looked up when he got to the veggies, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of the options available. I smiled and said we just wanted tomato, nothing else, and no sauce.

Obviously he thought I couldn’t hear anything and there was no point in really talking to me anymore, so he resorted to his version of sign language – and it was perfectly fine with me (even preferable, if I’m being honest). I thought it was kind of hilarious; it’s been a long time since I’ve had someone react that way when I say I’m deaf. Even before I got my CIs and I really couldn’t hear, when I told someone I was deaf and reading lips, they would still keep talking to me the same way they had been.

(Before I get to my next story, I have to interject and say that Dave had his viral load tested at this appointment, and we got the results yesterday. As of one month into his three month treatment with Harvoni and Ribavirin, he has cleared the Hepatitis C virus! He never cleared it in 2013; he went from over 4 million to 11,000 but that was as low as it went. This time he started at over 3 million and BOOM … now it’s undetected. ! ! ! !)

The other hearing loss-related thing that happened around here was during a power outage. The power really doesn’t go out very often here, and when it does they get it back on within a few hours (at the most). It seems to go out at weird times, though, not during storms. The last time was about a week ago, after we’d had some rain come through. During the storms all was well, but about 3:15 in the morning my eyes just kind of flew open. I could feel that something wasn’t right; I just didn’t know what it was. I realized Dave wasn’t in bed, and then I looked over at the clock and saw that it was off – we had a power outage.  (Dave had realized about five minutes before me and was getting candles.)

It wasn’t hot so we didn’t have fans on (or else the room suddenly getting hot would have woken me up). I realized that when I’m sleeping I’m more sensitive to light (and the lack of it) than I realized. I always assumed I wouldn’t wake up from a strobe light on a smoke detector, and that I’d need something that vibrated the bed to wake me up. (Those systems are, by the way, very expensive.) Now I’m kind of wondering if the strobe light would actually do the trick. I must be more sensitive to that kind of thing when I’m sleeping since I don’t have hearing to rely on. Very interesting!


Hearing Things

I was in the kitchen yesterday, making soup from the last of the Thanksgiving turkey, while Dave was in the living room, talking to Comcast. We had just bought a new modem earlier in the day and he was in the process of getting it set up. Since our captioned phone is voIP and needs the internet to work, he has to (reluctantly) make this call on his cell phone.

I could hear talking back and forth so I assumed he had the phone on speaker mode. It sounded like the conversation was going well; he was answering questions promptly and without hesitation. Then I heard him hesitate before explaining that he was hard of hearing, and could she speak a little slower? Uh oh.

“I … can you hang on for a second?” Dave race-walked into the kitchen, holding out his phone. “Can you understand this?” he hissed.

“Can you repeat that?” he asked the Comcast rep.

“Bleh, bah de hop der.”

I widened my eyes and shrugged my shoulders. I could hear a voice, but I couldn’t even tell if she was speaking English or not. I couldn’t make out even one word for him.

“Uh, can you say that again?” he asked. Again, gibberish flowed from his phone speaker. “I’m sorry!” I mouthed. I felt terrible, but I just had no idea. I could also feel his sense of panic; this was the only way to get the modem working, by calling Comcast to give the MAC address so they could work their magic. There was no other way to communicate with them to accomplish this; he couldn’t send them an email. His phone isn’t a smartphone so it has no caption apps (not that we know how to work those).

I dried my hands and walked into the living room to see if I could catch any of the conversation. It never got better for me, although Dave started answering questions again. (I think he got her to rephrase the question or statement he couldn’t understand.) After many frustrating minutes, he told her he was going to try something and he’d call her back. Somehow he got the modem working on his own.

The phone is always hit or miss for me; I can usually manage a short conversation if the person doesn’t have an accent, talks slowly and clearly, and I already know what the subject is going to be. That way, the captions can keep up and I get to hang up before I get too fatigued from trying to listen. Not everyone with a CI has trouble with the phone; some use it with no problem at all. But the phone is a major source of stress for me, and that makes it even harder for me to understand. It doesn’t really impact my life too much; in this day and age, I can get by with rarely using a phone and relying instead on texting and email. It is disappointing for me, though. I had hoped I would be able to hear perfectly on the phone after I got CIs. Instead, my phone skills went way down; without any natural hearing, I tend to hear noises but not make sense of what I’m hearing unless I have (accurate) captions.

Not all captions are accurate, by the way. When Dave talks to my mom, I always read the captions. Most of the time they make no sense. Here’s an excerpt from their conversation last night, transcribed exactly as it showed up on our captioned phone:

“… and she June as an cause human fed back so what is going on …,” and, “… and A the driver have been said in active something I can team the claim back to guess … .”

So yeah, the captions don’t always help. I was thinking about all of this when we started watching The Good Wife last night (no major spoilers for those who haven’t watched it yet, but if you don’t want to know ANYTHING about the episode then be warned). There was a trial, and they kept showing one specific juror. He was watching everyone intently, occasionally turning to whisper to the jurors seated next to him (and once getting reprimanded by the judge). Later in the episode, we hear him ask the man next to him what had been said. Just when we’re starting to wonder what’s up with this juror, the judge asks to see him and the two lawyers in his chambers.

Apparently one of the other jurors has informed the judge that he thinks this juror is partially deaf, because he’s having trouble following what’s being said. The juror asserts that no, he is not deaf. The judge persists, asking if there’s any reason he might not be able to understand the proceedings. Then the juror admits that sometimes, when he’s stressed, he suffers from Auditory Processing Disorder. (This is something I’m pretty sure I have, because it’s much worse when I’m stressed.) He assures the judge that he has coping mechanisms and isn’t missing anything being said.

The judge turns around, so the juror can’t read his lips, and asks a question. He doesn’t speak gibberish, but the audio and captions that we have on our TV reflect what the juror hears, not the actual question. He hears, “What waxing the number of the last wideness?” Then we get to see his coping mechanisms in action. The judge turns around, one of the lawyers protests that it’s not a common name, and the judge brushes off her complaint. He looks at the juror and asks what the question was. You can see a moment of panic on the juror’s face, then he takes a stab at it. “You asked me the name of the last witness,” he says. The defense lawyer looks triumphant, but the judge is no fool; he knows that her protest gave the juror a clue as to what the question was.

“Yes,” he says, “but the question is whether Cary Agos …” and he turns around again. Again we hear and see what the juror hears. “… hurt lemons bussing the important tree-mills of honeycuts.”

The room is silent while everyone looks to the juror for his answer. Finally he shrugs, and next we see him leaving the courthouse.

And that, folks, is how I hear many things if I don’t have visual cues to work from. Luckily I do really well if I’m in the room with someone, even if I can’t see their face. I can catch about 90% or more of what’s being said. It’s when sound is transmitted – through the phone, the TV, or at the movies – that I have the hardest time.

It was so gratifying to see a TV show get it right for once. We’ve seen ridiculous cochlear implant surgeries. (On House, when the patient came out of surgery able to hear already, and then proceeds to rip the implant out of his head with his bare hands … no. Just, no.) We’ve seen people (on Switched at Birth, of all places) call CI surgery ‘brain surgery.’ (Again … no.) But this was totally believable, and absolutely accurate.

Good job, The Good Wife!

Hearing With My Eyes

Dave and I headed back to the VA hospital on Monday for his dermatology appointment.  During his Hepatitis C treatment, a spot on his back started to change and the doctor wanted him to have it looked at.  It was always a little gnarly-looking, but during treatment it would randomly bleed and it developed more of a cauliflower shape.  (He’s had this mole-like thing for, he figures, around 20 years or more.)

I was a little worried, I admit; being the worrier that I am, I had frequently Googled ‘skin cancer’ and I was pretty sure that’s what he had.  The doctor came in and we talked for a bit; our conversation was going so smoothly that neither of us bothered to fill her in on our respective hearing losses.  We usually don’t mention it unless we’re having trouble hearing/understanding somebody; at the hospital, that would usually be a doctor or nurse with a heavy accent or tendency to talk to us while they’re looking away (writing or typing or whatever).

The dermatologist took a look at Dave’s back and casually said, “Oh yeah, that’s a basal cell carcinoma.”  Before I could freak out, she went on to say that it’s really common, easily treated and usually isn’t the type to spread.  She proceeded to look over the rest of his body and found one more spot that she said was a very early stage of basal cell carcinoma, on the top of his head.

As this was all happening, I was following what she said very easily.  She didn’t have an accent and she spoke clearly.  I really felt like I didn’t have a hearing loss at all; it’s very easy to get lulled into thinking you’ve reached a point where you don’t need accommodations anymore.

She explained that she was going to take a biopsy of the thing on Dave’s back, and we’d get the results in about a week; depending on how invasive it was, he’d either have it scraped off or cut out.  Then she turned away and slipped a blue mask over her mouth.  After that, it was like 70% of the conversation dropped away for me.  I could keep up by catching a word here and there and guessing at the content of the rest of her sentence, but it was so much work.

At one point, she turned away completely and asked a question.  I could tell it was a question by the inflection in her voice, but I hadn’t understood even one word of what she said.  Dave gazed at me over her shoulder, raising his eyebrows in a “What do I say?!” kind of way.  He hadn’t caught the question fully himself.  I had to shrug and mouth, “I don’t know!”  Finally he started telling her about our canning adventures; he had guessed that she’d asked what our plans were for the day and apparently he guessed correctly, because she continued the conversation with no ‘What the heck?!’ expression on her face (what we usually see when we respond inappropriately to an unheard question).

I could follow her a little better when I knew what the subject of the conversation was, but I was still having to work very hard to keep up.  If she had asked me a question directly, I would have definitely told her I was deaf and hearing with cochlear implants, and needed to see her lips.  But she slipped the mask off fairly quickly and, once again, our conversation became 100% clear to me.  She went on to zap Dave’s head with liquid nitrogen (he was not pleased!) and gave us instructions on taking care of the area where she took the biopsy.

The whole experience really made it clear how much I still use visual clues to ‘hear.’  I can go for so long with no problems because I spend most of my time with Dave, and I can carry on a conversation with him from another room – I’m so used to his voice, I don’t need to see his face to understand.  My cochlear implants work so well in most situations that I can get lulled into feeling like my hearing is 100% normal with them.  Then I have a situation like the one at the dermatologist’s office, and I get served a little slice of humble pie.

It’s all good – no complaints here; believe me, I will never complain about my cochlear implants!  I just need to remember that my eyes are just as important as my ears in my whole hearing experience.

Live and Learn

When I was in high school, I worked as a cashier at Venture for about a year and a half.  Venture was a store similar to K-Mart, your basic discount department store in the Midwest.  This was back in ’81-’82, and the stores didn’t have scanners – we had to key in three sets of numbers for every item (department, item class and price).  On top of that, the cash registers had no numbers on them, just blank white keys, meant to encourage us not to stare at the register but to look at the item and quickly key in the numbers on the price tag.  (That scared me almost as much as the phone!)  If a customer presented a credit card (and that was rare back then; most people used cash or checks) then we had to drag out the knuckle-buster and a credit slip, write all the information down, and call the charge in if it was over $50 (my biggest nightmare).VentureSign

I got really good at the cash register part, and I was quick and efficient, moving my line along at a brisk pace.  I usually had no problem understanding people, between my speech reading skills and my hearing aid.  Back then, I had a moderate-severe loss in my left ear, and a severe-profound loss in my right ear; I wore one hearing aid, in my right ear.  The biggest issue I really had was with the phone, which had no amplifier.

If I had to call in a charge, I never knew if I would be able to understand the person on the other end.  Many times I had no idea what they were saying, but I got used to the questions they would ask so I would throw that information out there and hope it was what they needed.  At least half the time I couldn’t hear the confirmation number they gave back to me; I’d just write down a bunch of numbers on the slip that sounded close to the noises I was hearing on the phone.

As a side note, I always looked for jobs that involved little to no phone use (I still do that even today).  When I chose a cashier job, it never occurred to me that there would be a phone involved.  I figured I couldn’t ask for a special phone and never bothered to even mention my difficulties to my boss.    Although I kind of enjoyed the cashier aspect of the job, I would probably never go back to another cashier job because of the phones (and now those walkie-talkie things that everyone seems to use – those are a million times worse than the phone for me).  Kind of a bummer because I’m looking for something very part time, just to bring in some extra money now that the business is slow, and it is hard to find something that doesn’t involve a lot of phone use with the skills I have (mostly office work).  Between my phone phobia and my difficulties on the phone, I have no interest in using the phone at work – it stresses me out way, way too much.  I can get by with a captioned phone, but I still would not want a job that had me using the phone very frequently.  It’s going to be a long job search!

Getting back to my job at Venture…one day a lady came in, and I can’t remember now if she was alone or with somebody else, but I think she was alone.  She told me she was deaf.  And that’s all she said:  “I’m deaf.”  It froze me completely.  I was terrified!  I didn’t know sign language, didn’t know anything about deaf people or how to communicate with them.  For all I know, she might have been able to hear a little bit; in my mind, ‘deaf’ meant completely devoid of hearing, no sound getting through at all.

I just smiled and nodded, didn’t say anything, and rang her purchases up.  The whole time, I was slightly panicked, wondering how I was going to tell her the total of her purchases.  I had no idea if she could lip read, I had no idea how to communicate with her at all.  I believe she moved around so she could see the total on the cash register, then she paid and that was that.  But all these years later, I still remember how freaked out I was to have someone tell me they were deaf…even though I also had a hearing loss!

Now that I’m deaf myself (and hearing with CIs), that always stays in the back of my mind if I identify myself as deaf to somebody.  I never, ever just say, “I’m deaf” and leave it at that.  I follow up with, “I read lips and I have cochlear implants.”  Depending on the situation, I might also let them know that I’ll say something if I’m having trouble hearing.  Usually I just like to throw it out there if the situation warrants it, so they don’t think I’m either rude/ditzy/clueless/stupid if I don’t respond appropriately.  I always say that I’m deaf, though, because I am and also because it seems to catch people’s attention more than “I have a hearing loss.”  People tend to be more careful about looking at me when they know I’m reading their lips; if I just say that I have a hearing loss, most of the time they talk with their head turned and/or talk too quietly or too fast.

Hopefully I’ve never elicited the same amount of fear in somebody that I had that day I met my first deaf person.  Part of it was my young age and inexperience; part of it was her lack of information.  Although she didn’t have to tell me anything else, it would have helped to know how to communicate with her since it wasn’t something I had any experience in.  Live and learn!

Living With Someone Who Has Hearing Loss

I’ve written about this before, but it’s on my mind again because tomorrow marks 15 years (15 years!!) since the day Dave and I met in person.  Before I met him and started hanging out with him, I had really never been around someone with a hearing loss.  I learned the hard way that personally having a hearing loss did not mean I was automatically aware of how to communicate with someone else who was hard of hearing.  Kind of like how going deaf didn’t suddenly give me the power to understand and communicate in sign language.

I’m the only person in my immediate family with a hearing loss, so I grew up knowing they could help me out if I didn’t hear something.  All of my friends, boyfriends and my first husband had normal hearing.  I was 33 when I met Dave, so I’d had plenty of time to get used to having other people help me out when my own ears fell down on the job.  That was the first big eye-opener for me.

I’d hear something and turn to Dave.  “What was that?”  He’d shrug and say, “Beats me!”  I’d leave the water running in the sink, walk off and forget about because I didn’t hear it.  He didn’t hear it either; who knows how much water we wasted before one of us noticed the silent stream gushing forth from the faucet.

We’d go out somewhere, and I would actually have the advantage because I was better at reading lips.  The cashier would give me the total, and I wouldn’t really pay attention because I was used to the person I was with being able to hear and relay the amount to me.  Dave would be silent – he had no idea either.  I learned to be more vigilant, especially in noisy situations.  I couldn’t hear well, but I could read lips and thus became the ‘hearing person’ in that situation.  Talk about role reversal!

I was used to just talking, probably at a lower volume than normal since my own voice always sounds loud to me (whether I had hearing aids or CIs).  I didn’t bother to make sure Dave could see my face, or that I was even in the same room.  I’d get no response at all from him and I’d realize, “Huh.  What an asshole I am – I’m not even attempting to be considerate!”

It probably took a month or so for me to get used to this, checking my annoyance if he didn’t hear me at first – it was my fault, for not doing what I knew needed to be done for him to understand me.  It was so weird to realize I was really bad at being considerate and thoughtful when it came to communicating with the man I loved.  It truly was not second nature at all.

When we first met, my hearing loss was a little more severe than Dave’s but in the opposite ear.  So he wears a hearing aid in his right ear; I wore mine in my left ear (and the transmitter on my deaf right ear – they were wireless bi-CROS aids).  Dave just wears the one hearing aid and is profoundly deaf in his left ear.  So we got used to positioning ourselves so our good ears were next to each other.  We have a double computer desk and Dave sits to my left; when we watch TV or movies, I sit on his right side.  When we go for walks, I’m on his right side.  If we’re both in the car, he always drives (that way his good ear is next to me).  The only time I drive now is if I’m going somewhere alone – I’m getting a little spoiled, always being able to kick back in the passenger seat!  🙂  I contribute to our road trips by operating and translating the GPS system for him – half the time he can’t understand what it’s saying, and the other half of the time he chooses to be ornery and ignore the directions while yelling at Maggie (our Magellan GPS…you’ve named yours too, right?!) and telling her she’s crazy.

I learned that even though our hearing losses were a little bit different in severity, being able to read lips gave me the advantage in noisy situations.  I got used to being the one to help if he didn’t hear a question from the waitress or cashier or salesperson.

So over the years I learned the tricks to communicating with a hard of hearing person.  Make sure they can see you when you talk, and make sure you’re talking clearly…not too loud or soft, no exaggerated lip movements, not too fast or too slow.  Dave tends to leave his hearing aid out, especially in the morning, so I try to remember to look at his ear and see if he’s wearing it.  If not, I talk louder and stand right in front of him.

If I’m behind him, I’ll gently touch his arm to get his attention.  Sometimes this still scares the crap out of him, but I learned a gentle touch is better than a tap or grabbing his arm or something.  If there’s a really loud noise (coffee grinder, loud music), I’ll wait until it’s over before I talk.  Sometimes I can’t tell if he can hear me or not, so I ask.  “Can you hear me?  Am I speaking clearly enough?”  We both sometimes still do the deaf nod thing with each other, but by now we can usually tell when the other is faking and I, personally, derive great joy from calling Dave out on it.

When I went deaf (almost five years ago now), Dave was so amazingly patient and thoughtful.  He never expressed a single iota of frustration over having to repeat himself.  He happily learned signs with me and was willing to try whatever I was interested in (we even watched a DVD on cued speech).  He never told me, “It’s not important; never mind.”  I think patience and kindness are so important – it goes such a long way when someone wants to communicate with you and you take the time to do what needs to be done to facilitate that.  No eye rolling, no exasperated sighs, no sharp tone of voice – just kindness and patience.  It’s easier said than done!

Now I’m in a weird position where sometimes I hear much better than Dave does, even though I’m technically deaf.  I have a much better time understanding people with accents, using the powerful combination of my cochlear implants and speech reading.  Many of Dave’s doctors have accents, and they share information we really need to know, especially with his Hepatitis C treatment coming up (it starts April 10th).  Whenever he has an appointment with a specialist or for anything other than a routine checkup, I go with.  I take notes.  I make sure he doesn’t miss anything, and that we advocate for whatever he might need.

It’s been 15 amazing years, and he has taught me so much.  It really all started the first time I realized this was going to be a different experience, dating a guy with hearing loss.  He was adding milk to my coffee, and he told me to say ‘when’ because he didn’t know how much I wanted.  He poured; I said, “When.”  He kept pouring, and I thought, What the heck?!  Why isn’t he stopping?!  It finally dawned on me…he didn’t hear me!  I yelled, “WHEN!” and he looked over, startled, just as the cup was about to overflow.  And so it began…my hearing loss education.  🙂

Sometimes the World Sounds Like Charlie Brown’s Teacher

I have a confession to make:  I don’t have speakers for my (desktop) computer.  Well, I mean, I have them but I don’t have them hooked up.  In the fall of 2012 we completely changed our computer desk situation, and we went from this:

Our 'Command Center' before -- mostly shows the top of the desks, but trust me, it was huge!  (Two massive desks next to each other.)

Our ‘Command Center’ before — mostly shows the top of the desks, but trust me, it was huge! (Two massive desks next to each other.)

to this:

The two-person computer desk that Dave made

The two-person computer desk that Dave made

(And the ‘before’ picture doesn’t show the full glory of the hulking behemoths containing our two desktop computers, two printers, etc. etc. which extended completely through the dining room and halfway into the living room.)

When we made the change, Dave waved my computer speakers at me and asked if I wanted them hooked up and, if so, where did I want them?  I looked at the nice clean desk and decided I didn’t need the speakers.  I use sound so little with my computer, and if I do use it, I almost always wear headphones so I don’t bother everyone around me with what I’m listening to.  Now I have no choice but to use headphones if I want to hear anything on the computer — no big deal.

Part of the reason I rarely watch videos (the main reason I’d need to hear sound) is because I’m still used to thinking I can’t.  Back in the day, our (dial-up) internet connection wasn’t all that great and you just couldn’t properly watch a video – it was all stuttery and half the time wouldn’t fully load.  Those days are long gone, but I am the embodiment of the expression ‘old habits die hard.’  Every time I click on a video and it looks fine, I get a little thrill.  Look at me with my fancy computer!

The other reason is that I still need captions, and almost nothing is captioned online.  The Youtube translation/captioning that they offer on most videos is horrendous – have you ever tried it?  It’s laughably bad; sometimes not even one word is properly captioned.  If you have a few minutes and want to see a great (hilarious) example of it, watch the video below.  What they did was act out a short little script, and let Youtube do the automatic captions.  Then they took the words that Youtube came up and re-acted the skit using those words.  They do it a third time as well, and besides being hilarious, it’s a great example of how bad the captioning really is.  The skits aren’t that long, and it’s worth a viewing.

I tried to embed the video, but it isn’t working, so right-click on this link and open it in a new window:

Sort of in this category is another funny Youtube channel – Bad Lipreading (

Since I lipread, this really fascinates me and cracks me up.  They have videos with and without captioning, and I can only understand the captioned ones.  (Luckily the captioning is spot-on for these.)

Even though I can test amazingly in a sound booth with my CIs on, it just doesn’t translate to the real world for me.  (Probably because the real world isn’t in a sound booth!)  I’m sure it also has to do with the type of hearing loss I have and the fact that I have some of my high frequency electrodes turned off in my CI programs.  For whatever reason, if I’m watching TV or a movie, or listening on the phone, I need to see faces or have captions to make sense of what I’m hearing.  Otherwise it’s like Charlie Brown’s teacher:  “Blah, blah blah blah.”  I can hear it, but it’s just noise.

There was a truly hysterical scene in an episode of Louie, where Louis CK is calling in an order to a deli and he can’t understand the heavily-accented man who answers the phone.  I tried to find a video of it and I can’t find the whole clip, unfortunately.  This is just a trailer for the episode, and it cuts out one of the best lines in the exchange, but it still illustrates really well what it’s like for me to talk on the phone.  (The video is short , but you have to put in your birth date since the show is rated MA.  Which is weird, because the trailer has nothing Mature in it, but whatever – watch it, it’s funny!  Be warned though, it’s not captioned…but I’ll explain it in a sec.)  I can’t seem to embed this one either, so (again) right-click and open it in a new window:

So, he’s ordering orange juice and the guy says, “Pulp?”  And the scene proceeds, as so:

“Pulp?” –Deli guy

“What?” -Louie

“Pulp.” –Deli guy

“Is there a – do you have a synonym?” –Louie

The guy then says something more, like, “The orange juice, do you want pulp in it or not?” and then Louie finally gets it.  In the full scene, though, the ‘Pulp?’ exchange went on longer and at one point Louie mutters something like, “It’s just NOISE, I don’t…” and I was yelling at the TV, “Yes!!  I know what you mean!”  (By the way, he also orders 15 bananas and ends up getting 60…haha…another example of how easy it is to mis-hear things!)

So yea, that’s how it is for me and Dave.  Give us captions on everything, please and thank you!

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