The Conversation Killer


I have to give myself a hand. Ruining a conversation is becoming my interruptingexpertise.

With the high quality technology that I have implanted in my head, it sends me signals on when to interrupt when someone is talking.

I have a problem talking over other people. It’s not intentional, I swear. It’s also not intentional if I ignore you or misunderstand what you said. Again, I swear.

When I think someone has finished what they were saying, the realization is they are still talking.

Amy: “And then I had to walk about 1 1/2 miles in the snow to…”

Me: “Snow is such a pain, especially, this year, isn’t it? Want to go outside the walk the dogs?”

Amy: (to herself): WTF?

Amy: “I gotta go. I forgot I have to do something…Anything.”

Aaaaaaaand, there she goes. I’m the Conversation Killer.

I told my husband, “This guy acts like he’s had a few hits to the head, doesn’t he?” 

I’ll pick up on bits and pieces of a conversation and try to put the story together. Sixty Minutes had a segment on a few years ago about a guy who taught boxing to Mohammed Ali and George Foreman.

I’m trying to understand the concept of the conversation. They’re probably just doing a bio on a guy and talking about how he got started as a boxer, transitioned from boxer to trainer, his life, yada-yada. But, what really bothered me was a physical tick he had with his head. He kept cocking it over to the right when he was talking.

I told my husband, “This guy acts like he’s had a few hits to the head, doesn’t he?”

Dave looks at me with a dead-panned face. “He has Lou Gehrig’s Disease. Happy now?”

Whoops. I didn’t hear about that tiny medical detail.

I can see the front page of the local newspaper now: CONVERSATION KILLER STRIKES AGAIN. MAKES FUN OF FAMOUS TRAINER WITH LOU GEHRIG’S DISEASE.

When I’m naturally deaf and talk to my husband, I need to tone down the decibel level. Obviously, you can’t hear yourself speak when your deaf, so you naturally just start kicking your voice up a notch. When he tries to talk to me without my hearing, we have some amusing conversations. We don’t know ASL, so we have our own sign language. Dave does a lot of hand puppets and pantomime, which is ironic since he hates Mimes.

He’ll mouth a word to me which I don’t understand and then the guessing games start.

Me: “You’re going to the store…and?”

Dave is moving his mouth.

Me: “Going to get pancakes?”

Dave shakes his head no.

Me: “Going to punch a steak?”

Dave getting agitated, still shakes his head no. At this point in the game I know I’ll only get one more guess before he either writes it down, or just shakes his head and walks away.

“WAIT! GOING TO THE STORE TO GET TOMATO STAKES!”

Dave points to his nose. Well, done Grasshopper. 

Whenever I guess something correctly, it makes me happy–like I’ve found an unexpected toy at the bottom of my Ben and Jerry’s ice cream container. (Sidenote: Ben and Jerry’s ice cream containers are too small.)

Ah – small victories.

If I hadn’t guessed it, it would have been another conversation that had been killed–murdered beyond any grammar recognition and unidentifiable by DNA technology.

I adjust my cochlear device for certain situations, but sometimes it doesn’t always work, so when I’m often with a lot of people, I’ll just nod my head and agree. Nodding your head in agreement about something, especially when you’re speaking to your 21-year-old son, is not a habit you want to start. You also don’t want to nod in agreement when you’re stuck in a dark alley with a bunch of gang members. The same can be said when you’re in jail and share a prison cell with a murderer-pedophile, interpreting a meeting between North and South Korean Ambassadors, or doing a television ad for adult diapers.

I’m working on trying to not talk over others and kill a conversation because I don’t know what half of it is about. I now ask my husband to fill me in on conversations, or just come right out and ask, “What are you talking about so I can try to kill the conversation?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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