A senior writer for TheSpoof.com, senior only because of his age, and no reflection on the amount of time he has appeared there, was urged to get a hearing test by his spouse, tired of getting no verbal response to normal conversation.
The writer, who figured she had nothing to complain about anyway, since he already took out the garbage, shopped for all the food, walked the dog, put gas in the car, vacuumed the carpets and cleaned the toilets, and did all the gourmet cooking, figured she was just pointing out a clump of dog hair he had missed on his last pass with the $600 Dyson Animal Hair lyposcuction machine.
However the writer was persuaded by the family physician to have his ears checked for hearing loss after a recent visit when an aging patient drove her '64 Cadillac Eldorado into the waiting room, just missing the writer, who didn't hear a thing and continued reading Southern Living, The Christmas Cooking Edition, featuring a fascinating recipe for deep fried oyster stuffing.
Arriving on the fateful day, the writer subjected himself to a probing inspection by the specialist which consisted of a 3 foot long snake like probe that was inserted into each nostril, and plunged down to an indeterminate depth, resulting in only the retrieval of a few buggers he didn't know he still had, left over from a dust storm in the Mekong Delta almost 40 years ago, which still smelled like fish sauce, diesel fuel and gunpowder.
The writer was reminded of a recent visit to another doctor, who decided to check on possible kidney stones with the same type of snake like apparatus, with a tiny camera at the end. No, he did not insert it in the writer's nose, not even close!
Next the aging senior, luckily qualified under the now newly endangered medicare act, was collected by a strikingly handsome woman, who smiled, and lip synced, "follow me" with her pouty lips. Following her down the long, long hallway, it was hard to miss the slit in her silk sarong, cut enticingly close to what one of a certain age could only consider 'forbidden dreams', or in the UK, what is known as 'Cheeky', her daintily painted toes accented by the gold strapped Cleopatra "F****Me (NOW!) Italian sandals.
The subject was placed in a sound proof room, supplied with earphones, and told to repeat after the technician, words that she would speak clearly to gain an understanding of the degree of hearing loss.
The following was taken from the written transcript and repeated here for the reader's complete understanding. First word will be the technician's,(T) the second will be what the subject (S) thought he heard:
T: PROOF S: POOF
T:ROCK S: COCK
T:PIT S: TIT
T: SHUNT S:(guess!)
T: SIGH S: THIGH
T: BREAST S: TIT
T: PASS S: ASS
T: CHEST S: NIPPLE
T:ORAL S: SURE!
T: MISSIONARY S:Boring
T: PENIS S: hard
(did I mention I'm sure the technician was on commission?)
At the conclusion of the hearing test which also consisted of a variety of sub sonic sounds and whistles, the Subject was told, basically, that he was deaf in one ear and couldn't hear out of the other.
"How much will it cost to deal with this issue, " he asked, "and is it covered by insurance?"
This answer may surprise you: "General Motors is the only company that insures the installation of hearing aids under their health care policy."
That basically means that since I'm a taxpayer and one of the cars at home is a GMC, I'm paying for it, but I don't qualify for insurance....full boat cost for ME!
Now the price.
"We have all different price ranges from $1200 up to $2500, but I suggest the mid range price for you, about $1500" she cooed seductively.
"Not too bad" he says, "I'm willing to try that!"
"That is $1500 a piece, for a total of $3,000, cash, check or credit card," she added, slyly brushing up against my ear with her tangerine tipped lips.
"Sorry, dear, I can't hear a fucking thing you just said...I thought I was going to get lucky here, I thought I was getting a hearing test, not a proctology exam!"
Sometimes, what you think you want to hear, is better than the stark reality!
No, I really can't hear you now....but I can dream can't I?
Welcome to the Senior Writer Years!