Hearing the Cocktail Talk

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Gael Hannan
March 24, 2015

Last night the Hearing Husband and I went to a cocktail party.  

Hosted by our best friends from Toronto who are here in St. Augustine, Florida, escaping the brutal Canada winter, the party was not as fancy as the name suggests. These days, ‘cocktails at five’ may mean something farther down the sophistication scale, such as “drinks and appies” or “c’mon over for a beer”.  In spite of the lofty name, the dress code for both women and men was standard Florida beach business attire: one of your better tee shirts, clean shorts and no sand on your flip-flops.

As we arrived, I braced my shoulders for the inevitable communication challenges of a party where I don’t know everyone well enough to identify them in a police lineup.  Hard of hearing people struggle to understand conversation at noisy social events. Of the 12 other people at the party besides our close friends, four were strangers to us and we socialize so seldom with the other eight that their speech patterns are not firmly locked in my memory vault.

It turned out to be a great little party with a minimum, although not a complete lack, of communication problems. Most I handled well, some not so well.

The names of the people at the cocktail party were Nancy and David, David and Linda, Sari and Peter, Peter and Tracy, Andy and Doreen, Beatrice and John, Wayne and Mary. I know this for a fact, because I just learned some of their names this morning.  I had heard John as Don, and because it was in my head that his wife’s name was Pam, I simply did not hear Beatrice when she was introduced—possibly because I was smiling at her and not reading David’s lips when he introduced us. Just as people with hearing loss can prepare themselves by readng a singer’s lyrics before a concert or a play’s script before a performance, it’s also a good idea, if possible, to learn the names of fellow party-ers in advance for a better chance of getting them right.

A cocktail party, or almost any crowded social event, is one of the few places where the violation of  ‘personal space’ is acceptable.  In his book The Hidden Dimension, anthropologist Edward T. Hall {{1}}[[1]]Hall, Edward T. (1966). The Hidden Dimension. Anchor Books[[1]]places the boundaries of personal space at 24 inches on either side, 28 inches in front and 16 inches behind you.  If anybody standing inside that invisible boundary is not your lover, very close friend or mommy, they could be considered as invading your space.

But at noisy parties because of crowding or an over-abundance of alcohol, the rules for observing personal space are relaxed.  It’s not unusual for two otherwise unconnected people to chat while touching shoulders and with faces less than a foot apart.  This is good news for people like me who may, because we need to be up close and personal for better hearing and speechreading, sometimes move in closer to talk than is customary or comfortable for other people.

My biggest challenge of the night was the prospect of speechreading a person who had just put a large deviled egg in her mouth. I’m grateful to Tracy for thinking better of trying to speak, and I looked at the ceiling and  floor—anywhere but her face—as she struggled to keep her mouth closed while swallowing the egg (which I know was delicious, because I made it).

If there was background music, it wasn’t loud enough to trump our talking voices. Chatting in a confined space is another trick of the trade; three or four of us talked in the narrow hallway that led into the kitchen, leaning against walls as we discussed, of all things, hearing loss.  Voices had nowhere to go except bounce off the walls into my waiting ears, making it easier to carry on the conversation.  

The fact that we were talking about hearing problems means I’d been a good hard of hearing girl; I spoke up when I couldn’t understand something or needed a repeat. This is easier, of course, in a group of people you know. In a crowd of strangers, I doubt I would have been standing a mere six inches away from another woman’s husband, asking him what he was up to these days. You would find me, instead, in a quieter corner pretending to be interested in the words of someone with big, speechread-able lips.  Or perhaps we would be comparing hearing aids and commiserating over the price of batteries these days.

Not going to the party at all is a common coping strategy of many people with hearing loss. The noise is not worth the energy involved in struggling to understand what’s being said. But what a shame to miss out on the companionship of deviled eggs.  

egg chicks

  1. Ms. Hannan

    I must say I simply LOVE the way you help us deal with our condition – lots of down-to-earth common sense and much more humor. Thanks for your articles and instruction. I repost many of them on our HLAA Facebook page with very good results.

    Thanks again for the lessons.

  2. Thanks for this! At 36 people don’t believe I have a hard time hearing. I just can’t do it sometimes! Parties or loud bars are so frustrating and brain-tiring. I do try to let people know what’s up, but it’s hard, like you say, to just open up to random strangers with a “HAH? What’s THAT? I CAN’T HEAR, YOU SEE!”

  3. I enjoy your down-to-earth comments about being in a group. Being hard of hearing in a large group can be stressful even when you know everyone. I usually get quiet and just try to read lips and listen to the best of my ability. When I talk, my own voice can interfere with me hearing the conversation of others. When I mentioned that I couldn’t read my grown son’s lips due to the light from the window behind him, everyone treated it as a big joke. I am too intense and I hate it. But it is hard to relax. It is good to know that there are people who can relate to how I feel.

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