Selective Hearing

 

It began, as it usually does, frequenting my favorite provider of Diet Mt. Dew-The local Maverick. It had been a particularly long day when I decided that 72 oz. of that sweet, aspartame filled nectar was not enough and yet another refill was absolutely necessary. I pull up to my usual parking space-not too close to the handicapped spots, and close enough to the Redbox in case the urge to rent-to-buy a movie surfaced. I perform my usual treasure hunt throughout my car-frantically scrounging for that $1.06. After the weary shakedown for change, I emerge from my vehicle like a mom leaving Target with her five children, mascara smeared, clothes randomly stained, gasping for breath, and ready for a drink.

 Change in hand, I feel the welcoming warmth from the artificial lights beaming through those automatic doors. Just before I begin my b-line to the “thirst station,” a man places himself between the doors and my now confused self. He pulls out a UTA ticket and explains that he is in desperate need for some $15 to buy a ticket home to return to his worried family. Now, this isn’t the first time I have been approached by someone in need; my usual response is “intently” thumbing through my non-existent pockets, following with a shrug and a rushed apology. But this encounter came at time of weakness, caffeine deficiency, and other symptoms of a long day.

Before I could even compute the absolute ludicrousness and the depravity of what was exiting my mouth, a long grunt followed by a laser beam stare towards the man’s lips-as if I were trying to read them-was the grand response to his plea. Yes, my Diet Mt. Dew-deficient brain resorted to pretending I was deaf, rather than simply explaining that all I had was my precious $1.06. I bet that isn’t on any soft drink warning label:

WARNING: SYMPTOMS OF WITHDRAWAL MAY INCLUDE HEADACHES, TREMORS, AND PRETENDING TO BE HEARING IMPAIRED.

But when the realization of what I had just done finally registered, it was too late. He moved closer to my face, brought the ticket up inches away from my eyes and began to yell, slowly, “I. NEED. MONEY. TO. GET. HOME!”

Now what? Could I possibly make the same deaf noise twice and it be convincing? I had told a number of Helen Keller jokes-and even watched Youtube videos of her (for educational purposes of course). Or do I come clean and try and play that “noise” off as a long, awkward yawn?

With rationale absent, I began speaking in what one could identify as a horrible, British accent and said, pointing at the ticket. “I don’t know where that station is, sorry.”

Surely I thought he would reason that I was of no help as a “deaf” individual, and would discontinue blocking me from all that I wanted that night.

But no, this man was hell bound to get home. Instead, he got even closer, grabbed my finger-a real Jane and Tarzan moment- placed it on the portion of the ticket that reflected the price, and in an even louder voice began to yell; “ME. HOME!!!, NEED MONEY!”

Due to shock and desperation, I contemplated being suddenly stricken with blindness. People randomly fall asleep as a medical condition. Why couldn’t I randomly lose my vision?

When you a reach a point so far beyond return, I have found that it is only plausible to embrace the awkwardness and continue until you are safely out of the now dire situation.

Without missing a beat, I grabbed the man by the wrist and led him inside to the front counter. Just when he thought I was being the decent, giving, generous individual I should have been, I point to the man’s UTA ticket and in my best yawning, British accent exclaim, “This man needs help finding the UTA station.” Before he could refute, I turned away from my blessed “Thirst Station,” Olympic sped walked out the door, and hopped in my car like I was in the Fast and Furious.

As I began my long drive home in stunned silence, all I could think aloud was “I really, really hope Karma is not a thing.”

Oh it is…and it came disguised as a flat tire.

Next time.