Tag Archives: Deaf

Thoughtful service = delighted customers. Restaurants, take note.

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Last weekend, I went for a birthday celebration meal with my parents and godmother. Out of the four of us, three are deaf. We’d gone to an Indian restaurant recommended to me by a neighbour, who said they produced good food, were reasonably priced and reviews I read mentioned friendly staff. So I took them there, with hope that it would be a nice evening out. It was lovely.

The manager, who personally greeted us, and all the other customers, didn’t bat an eye when told we were deaf (let’s face it, my father’s hearing is starting to go a bit as well) and had us escorted to a quiet-ish table by the window. We settled in and picked up our menus. As I squinted at the menu in the typically-dim restaurant light, I realised there seemed to be more light.

I looked up, and saw the ceiling-installed spotlights above our table getting brighter. We then noticed the manager moving away from a small control panel, and I realised that he had, entirely on his own initiative, made the spotlights above our specific table brighter, just for us.

It may seem a like a small gesture, but for someone who is used to dealing with dark, candle-lit tables, confused, mumbling waiters, and keen but clueless servers, it was one of the most impressive, sweet and thoughtful things a restaurant manager has ever done for us. Why can’t they all be like that? From there on in, it was all good. The staff were friendly and attentive, the food was good, and the manager wished me good luck for my forthcoming trip to India.

For a good Indian meal and deaf-aware service, head down to the Raj Mahal, Frenchay, Bristol. Wonderful.

Making parents cry…

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One of my random small jobs that I do from time to time is a volunteer session worker with the NDCS. Until March, my official title was ‘Deaf Role Model for the NDCS’, which sounds great, but then the funding ran out, so now I’m a voluntary session worker. Not to worry, a rose by any other name would smell as sweet and all that, and I think that the stuff we do is really positive, and necessary.

What do we do? Simple. At the end of an NDCS family weekend, I stand up in front of the parents, usually around 30 – 40 people – and give a 10 – 15 min presentation on my life, complete with slides. Brief rundown of family, school life, uni, life experiences, high points, low points, basically my experiences as a deaf individual, crammed into 15 mins or less, focussing on the positives where possible. The object? To subtly tell parents that ok, your child is deaf, it’s not the end of the world. They can still go on and do all the stuff one might expect a hearing child to do. This may be a simple message, dressed up in a personal presentation, but it’s clearly an important one if all the feedback sent to NDCS regarding the Deaf Role Model presentations is anything to go by.

This Sunday just gone, I was acting in this role for NDCS, in a average mid-priced hotel, in a conference room filled with parents. It went really well, there were smiles, there were tears, I could feel the happiness level in the room going up as I went on. And after, the parents were really sweet and even grateful, and some asked questions that I answered to the best of my ability. One parent even hugged me, and as always whenever I do this job, I went away feeling like I’d really achieved something that day.

On the one hand, I’m proud that I can do this kind of work for the NDCS, and I really feel like I’m making a difference.

On the other hand, I sometimes get depressed we’re needed at all. Of course deaf children can do whatever they want with the right support. I do understand that many new parents of deaf children have never met a deaf adult and so don’t know what to expect, I get that, I really do. I just sometimes wish that society’s expectations of deaf people were higher, and that general views of deafness were more positive.

Still. It’s a good job, one that gives me a great deal of satisfaction, and there are worse ways to spend a Sunday.

Carny Ville!

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Carny Ville is a whacked-out, Victorian-themed, 18+ rated extravaganza held over a weekend at the The Island, a former cop shop in Bristol with a beautiful courtyard and surrounding buildings. Hosted by the Invisible Circus and Artspace Lifespace, it’s a brilliant way to spend a night, with amazing performances, mad ‘stalls’ (such as the Pawnbrokers, prop. C. U. Cummings), ‘ladies of the night’ that barrack the crowd from above the stalls at street level, Victorian lamps that spew flame, street performers that mingle with the crowd and stay completely in character even as they’re being ‘arrested’ by the bobbies with flashing helmets, the swing band decked out in pink, the traditional circus acts held in the Carny Grand, it was all a great atmosphere and brilliant fun.

The idea of this blog however, is to to give my ‘deaf perspective’ on the world, and from this perspective, Carny Ville was fantastic. Example; on entering the venue we were given fake money – “five nicker: no gods we trust” – and a clue card, in my case “ask the pawnbrokers about the old times at the Carny Grand”. So I eventually made my way over to that stall, where they were in the middle of a staged confrontation with one of the fake bobbies and waited patiently until they’d finished, signing away with my friend. Bobby left, my turn, I waved hello and showed them the clue card. They’d clearly picked up on all the signals that I and my friend were deaf and proceeded to wave their hands about, pretending to carouse wildly, pretending to get in a fight and hit each other with things, basically doing a very good, very funny mime act of a wild night out, victorian style. Suitably amused and impressed, I moved on, when I was accosted by one of the street performers. Tried to wave him away, but he wasn’t put off and opened his coat to reveal watches and plastic jewellery and mimed offering me these riches. We mimed our way through a transaction and I came away with a plastic ring that he’d placed on my hand himself.

We got accosted by yet another street performer who began by trying to shout at us over the crowd noise. We indicated we were deaf, and far from putting them off, they began to sign at us! Basic level signing, sure, but good enough to tell us there was a knees up at the barn dance and invite us to join them later. It didn’t seem to matter who accosted us or who we interacted with – Carny Ville depends a lot on crowd participation and interaction with most of the acts – once whoever it was realised we were deaf, they immediately adapted, miming or pointing or gesturing to get their act across.

I loved Carny Ville for that.

That and the incredible finale in the courtyard which had fireworks, plumes of flame, two abseiling dancers that twirled around each other and occasionally danced in tandem, a wire act, a dozen fire twirlers dotted around the buildings’ balconies and stonking music.

Carny Ville finishes in Bristol this weekend, then it’s going on tour. I heartily recommend it to anyone who wants a great night out – hearing or deaf!

Rock on Carny Ville!