I have a dear friend – L– who loves a good rave. In fact we use to rave it up together quite a bit back in the day. And last week she popped out to visit me with her fella N and their beautiful daughter A.
L also just happens to be a bit of a looker, with legs up to here, flowing raven hair, dewy complexion and an unmistakable twinkle in her eye – which means she attracts quite a bit of attention wherever she goes.
In Pacha this comes in the form of many a gurning, wide-eyed, sweaty club-punter squawking in her ear trying to chat her up, constantly. And her having to explain, constantly, that she can’t hear them. And no. Shouting louder won’t do the trick. The inevitable and painfully obvious conversation then follows:
‘How can you be out clubbing if you’re deaf?‘
‘Well’ she has to tell them. ‘I can feel the vibrations. I can enjoy the general dancing, rhythmic and visual experience of getting off my tits in a club in the same way you can.’
...Which is all very fun the first time around. But it gets rather dull after about 10 years and hundreds of foamy-mouthed, ignorant twats who you wouldn’t in other circumstances give the time of day to, sidling up to you with the same question.
Unfortunately (for him) but hysterically (for us), at about 5.30am one particularly repellent wide-eyed punter (who I’d have probably crossed the street to avoid on a work day) bore the brunt of L’s ennui at having to constantly explain herself to complete strangers.
He sat down next to her and I on a sofa towards the end of the night, where we were happily tearing silent, sign-language chunks out of all the cheap, tacky sluts who were scuttling to and fro in front of us.
L: ‘Terrible shoes’
Me: ‘Fat arse’
L: ‘...ugh...just... disgusting...’
Me: ‘White denim. You should NEVER wear white denim...’
Punter: ‘ Ello laydies….(homing in on L) ello gorgeous… you English?’
At this point it is necessary to mention that L doesn’t speak out loud. She lip reads and quite justly expects you to offer her the same courtesy.
L: (shakes her head)
L: (shakes her head)
Punter: ‘Where you from then darlin?’
L: (turning to me)…..Tell him I’m from deaf land.
Me: (silently) Deaf Land? Really?
L: Yeah. (Dead-pan) Tell him I’m from Deaf Land.
Me: Erm...alright...(to Punter) ...she says to tell you she’s from Deaf Land
Punter: ‘Wha? Deaf Land? Where’s that then...never heard of it’
L: (to Punter)...do you know sign language?
Punter: Eh? What’s she saying?
Me: She wants to know if you know sign language?
Punter: oh...no...course I don’t!
L: (With a shrug and a wave of her perfectly manicured hand)...Well fuck off then...
Punter...what’d she say?
Me: Um...she says to fuck off...
Which he duly did. Looking very confused.
It was brilliant. Purely brilliant.