Thought some of you might like this joke taken from this Website:
Helen and I laughed when John, a neighbor, told us how his hearing aid occasionally emits a high-pitched squeal that can be heard by anyone near him. His granddaughter was sitting on his lap one day when the device started to beep.
Surprised, little Lorraine looked up at him and said, “Oh, Grampa, you’ve got e-mail!”
I worked until 9:15 last night and arrived home in the dark, unable to see the yard. When I opened my car door, the pungent smell of freshly cut grass enveloped me. In the ten steps from my car to the house, I knew the entire yard had been cut; a stark contrast to Super Hearing Boy’s (SHB’s) usual habit of cutting a portion of the large yard to keep from overexerting himself. But the potency of the grass smell was magnified tenfold this time. I was astounded when SHB confirmed the yard work was totally done!
If the CIA needs human sniffers, they should consider hiring people from the hard of hearing/deaf community. Several hoh/deaf people have written to confide to me they also possess this super powerful sense of smell. Surely we can profit from this phenomenon!
However, there is a downside to this freakish ability. In public places (think about where I work, people), my nose picks up on the personal habits of people around me. From 6 feet away, I can learn A LOT about someone. But I REALLY DON’T WANT TO KNOW who:
Unlike my hearing aids, there’s no “off” button for my nose!
Everybody multi-tasks to save time.
We:
These are things that are safe to do at the same time. But as I learned the hard way, there are some tasks that should never, ever, under any circumstances be done simultaneously. Please pay close attention and learn from the following story.
As I was putting away groceries one afternoon, I noticed sounds were becoming dim in one ear. I didn’t stop to change my hearing aid battery right then because I was running late for an appointment. After the food was put away, I ran to the master bedroom and on the way to the bathroom, grabbed a packet of hearing aid batteries off the dresser.
While sitting on the porcelain throne, I effortlessly removed the old battery and replaced it with a fresh one. Snapping the battery compartment door shut, I lost my grip on the slick, hard surface of the hearing aid. I watched, mouth agape, as it tumbled soundlessly into the pale amber liquid.
An air bubble floated to the surface. Seconds remained before the complex electronic circuitry of my beloved “ear” would be destroyed. I plunged my bare hand into the bowl and snatched the tiny instrument from the treacherous waters. A quick rinse in clear water, a few minutes with a hair dryer, and a prayer vigil resuscitated the precious giver of sound. It continued to provide years of selfless service after this near-death experience, and its final demise was celebrated with a respectable burial.
Nothing comes between me and my hearing aids. Nothing.
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