Small Talk with a Stylist

During the summer, while spending some time in England, I had a really great experience at a hair salon. Although I was very happy with my new style, this wasn’t the reason for the experience being great. It was great because I had a conversation with my stylist. This maybe doesn’t sound like anything noteworthy, but for someone with a hearing loss, to be able to converse in a hair salon is actually something pretty fantastic.

There is so much background noise in a hair salon. There are the hairdryers and the music that is often played loudly to be heard over the sound of the dryers. There must be the noise of water running out of the taps from the sinks where people have their hair washed, but this gets lost amongst the other sounds. There is the noise of people talking in raised voices attempting to converse; in a battle of audio strength with the other sounds of the salon. There are generally no or few soft furnishings in hair salons – I guess it wouldn’t be very practical to have thick curtains and carpets, due to all the stray hair. With an absence of soft furnishings, there is nothing to absorb the sound, and so it spends it’s time bumping into the mirrors, bouncing off the windows and porcelain sinks; continuously combining with the additional noises being produced every second.

It almost seems like it is part of a hairdresser’s job to make small talk with their customers. A hairdresser may get to know their client’s holiday plans; where they work; where they live; if they are in a relationship and if so for how long; and whether they have kids. The salon chair is often akin to the therapist’s couch; inspiring people to speak about their personal lives. Since my hearing loss, I have struggled with the whole hair-cutting experience due to the amount of noise in hair salons and conversation difficulties. I was feeling a little nervous before going to this appointment. I had waited until I was in England visiting my sister to get my hair cut; at least this way I wouldn’t have to worry about trying to speak Spanish as well as not being able to hear properly. The appointment was at my regular hair salon, though I hadn’t met the stylist before. As usual, the stylist and I had a quick conversation about the type of cut I would like, and then just before the stylist left to ask a colleague to wash my hair, I quickly added (whilst cupping my left ear with my left hand), “Oh, by the way, I’m deaf in this ear.” Lauren, the stylist smiled and assured me that this was fine.

After having my hair washed, I was back again sitting in the chair facing my reflection in the mirror. During a couple of weeks prior to this appointment, I had been trying to develop my lip-reading skills naturally by watching lips during conversations and had had some success in doing this, especially in bars and restaurants. I was keen to continue practising my new superpower-in-progress.

Even the best lip-readers are only able to understand around 30% of what is actually said by solely relying on lip-reading; the rest is educated guesswork, gathered from the context.  In fact, ventriloquists are able to produce a voice with little or no movement of the lips, since most sounds are produced inside the mouth where you can’t see them. And so, there is a limit to how accurate even the most skilled of lip-readers could ever be because most sounds aren’t produced with the lips. Nevertheless, watching a speaker’s lip movements, facial expressions and gestures during a conversation can be very beneficial in aiding verbal communication.

I watched Lauren’s lips in the mirror as she spoke, and in using the shapes her lips were making along with the sounds and words I could hear, I was able to follow most of what she was saying. After telling me about her work schedule for the week, she asked me what I did for work. I told her that I teach in Madrid. She told me she had never been there, though she had once been to Barcelona and that she had loved it. She commented on her holiday saying, “You know Pans, Pans and Co’?” (This is a sandwich franchise in Spain) “Why don’t they have them here? It’s like, they have Subway here, but Pans and Co is way better. The bread is amazing! Oh, I just want a Pans!” I smiled at this remark, and the conversation continued in a light-hearted dance of words.

I briefly noted that whilst watching the movement of Lauren’s lips in the mirror, it at least meant that I wasn’t spending the time awkwardly looking at my reflection. She must have noticed my stare, and asked me, “So do you lip-read then?” My secret was out. She wanted to talk about it. Great – I was happy to discuss my new project. I told her that I was trying to learn how to read lips. Lauren then asked whether I had always been deaf in my left ear. She seemed really interested – not just the general hairdresser level of interest – she actually seemed curious about my hearing loss. I told her my story in brief. She then surprised me by telling me her story. She recounted how she had caught glandular fever multiple times when she was a child, and this had resulted in her losing the hearing in one of her ears. She told me that she had found it really difficult especially since the doctors weren’t able to tell her whether her hearing would return. Luckily it did return within 3 months. She explained how during her time with hearing loss, she used to have the sensation of being underwater; the sound and pressure of water filling and whooshing past her ears. I told her that I also have this feeling.  I described how I always think sounds are coming from my right side, and she finished my sentence by saying, “Because that’s the ear you are hearing everything through.” The conversation moved to some more general discussion about hair thickness after that. But for that brief moment, it had felt so great to have shared a few words with someone who had an understanding of my hearing loss.

After this small exchange of experiences, Lauren switched off the hairdryer every time she wanted to tell me something of importance. She also spent most of the time with her body turned so that I could look at her face-on in the mirror, and follow her lips and her words. I felt such a sense of accomplishment to have been able to understand so much more of the conversation than I had on previous trips to the hair salon, following my hearing loss. Of course, I didn’t understand everything that was said, but I doubt many people do. I left the salon with a new hairstyle and some newly found confidence in my developing superpower.

The First Time… Part 2: Being Brave and Feeling Proud

When I first experienced my hearing loss, I couldn’t contemplate doing normal things such as going to a bar; which is a big part of the culture of Spain, where I live. I remember walking around the city, watching people spilling out of bars chatting sociably, and wondering if I would ever be able to feel comfortable again in this kind of animated environment; alive with noise. Then one day my best friend invited me to go to a bar where she was exhibiting some of her photos. I didn’t want to say no. I didn’t want to let her down. I wanted to see her, and her photos. So, the first time I went to a bar, with unilateral hearing, was to see my friend’s exhibition. Of course, it was going to be noisy, and I was mentally prepared for this. When we arrived, I immediately submerged myself in the sounds of vibrant conversation.  I managed to communicate with everyone and listened to them by tilting my head and making sure my good ear was facing them. Although it was exhausting and my tinnitus was ringing aggressively, I was really proud of myself for confronting such a challenging situation.

The first time I went, with unilateral hearing, for a haircut, I was so nervous. I knew the salon would be noisy and I knew the hairdresser would want to chat with me. I didn’t want her to think I was being rude if I failed to respond to her during the conversation. So when I was sat on the chair explaining to her what I’d like to have done with my hair, I also told her that I was deaf in my left ear. She barely had a response, apart from saying “OK” and giving me a smile.  As she was cutting my hair she sometimes spoke to me on my deaf side. When she was blow-drying my hair, it was impossible for me to hear her, and she continued chatting happily. I could see her mouth moving in the mirror, but didn’t know how to answer her. Yet she didn’t seem to be phased. I guess hairdressers see so many different people every day, with so many issues, and learn to take it in their stride.

I love eating out in restaurants; in fact, it’s one of my favourite things. If I go to eat in a restaurant however, there are only a few tables that are accommodating to my needs. The best table for me is one that is in a corner, with a chair situated in a position that will allow my deaf ear to face a wall, and my good ear to face the direction of any possible conversation. The worst positions are: at a table in the middle of a room; sitting with my back to where the waiter will approach; and anywhere where my deaf ear is directed towards the waiter – This will result in me jumping up in my chair in surprise as I turn to unwittingly see a waiter standing next to me, who I hadn’t sensed was there.  The first time I went for a meal in a restaurant, with my unilateral hearing, was when my boyfriend’s sister came to visit. We went to a Thai restaurant on a weekday, and earlier than the average Spanish person eats. The restaurant was almost empty and I managed to get a good position at a table. Although there was very little noise from people talking, I found the Thai music that was being played, a distraction. My good ear struggled to filter out the music and it was difficult to focus on conversation. It was quite a difficult experience, in terms of my hearing-related problems and communicating. But I was really proud of myself for going, and it was worth the struggle, to have the experience of eating Thai food in a restaurant.

Every time I did something for the first time, I gained a bit of confidence. Things weren’t easy and often weren’t pleasant, but every day I was trying to do something ‘normal’. I was positive I would be able to enjoy things again. I just needed to familiarize my body with the new experiences and learn strategies to deal with any new issues. My life was still going to be full of experiences; it was just going to be a bit different.

 

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