Stuart Wragg: Dinners with strangers and the agony of round tables (BSL)

To see the BSL translation of this article, thanks to Signly, please click on the signing hands icon at the bottom right side of the page! Then swipe on the text, or click on the play button to see it in BSL. 

Most people (I imagine) do not arrive early to a restaurant to scope out the seating arrangements.

Most people do not mentally prepare contingency plans should they find themselves seated at the end of a table, or worse in the middle. Alas, these are things I consider. Even before the most ‘casual’ of dinners.

I am deaf in my right ear which means there are a small number of specific seats on which I must sit for conversation to flow. Although there are several options that work, my general rule is to avoid having anyone sit to my right.

The right-side is a dead zone, a place where conversation goes to die. Someone seated in the dead zone, no matter how interesting or engaging they are, is someone I will struggle to hear. This experience is neither enjoyable for them nor me. “Sorry, what did you say?” I will uncomfortably ask in response to a statement made at least two times prior. “Hmm” I will smile (pretending I can hear) while, unbeknownst to me, a fellow diner recounts a sad story about the passing of their cat (or was it a rabbit?).

I once attended a dinner, seated on a round table, filled largely with people I didn’t know. Round tables are the cruelest kind of table. The curvature of a round table means I am within eyesight of at least three or four folks to my right, all of whom naively expect some form of interaction.

Such situations give me one of two options. Option one is to explain to people seated to my right I am deaf in my right ear and as such they should expect conversational challenges. Option two is do nothing and focus all my attention on those to my left. I will almost always take option two.

The decision to ignore fifty per cent of a table is not without risk. I once attended a networking dinner where I was forced to perform a dentist-like extraction of conversation from a group of introverts to my left. Meanwhile, those to my right spent the evening trading stories that stoked roars of laughter and endless chatter that led them (I imagine) to become life-long friends.

Arriving early to dinner is my preferred course of action. A head-start gives me time to scope out the room and place my phone on an optimal seat. The phone serves as a subtle but passive aggressive ‘reserved sign’ and is yet to fail me. Once this step has been taken I relax, safe in the knowledge that even as other guests arrive I have freed myself from the torture of strained conversation.

How envious I am of folks that blissfully sit in the middle of dinner tables. Here these characters, with fully-functioning ears, enjoy free passes to partake in any conversation they wish. From joining (or exiting) heated political debates to offering funny tales about run-ins with the in-laws, ‘middle-seaters’ gleefully stuff their faces with conversation like kids eating pick n’ mix.

I sometimes toy with sitting in the middle. Perhaps, I am overthinking the challenges of my hearing. Such fanciful thoughts don’t last long however. A ‘casual dinner’ might sound like a relaxed affair but for me there’s nothing casual about going to dinner.

Stuart is a communications consultant, piano player and keen runner.  Born deaf in his right ear, Stuart has found his deafness leads to more amusing experiences than major challenges.  Originally from the UK, Stuart moved to Australia in 2010 and lives in Sydney with his partner Andy.