There are any number of ailments that affect older adults. I have been pretty luck to make it to sixty and not have anything life-threatening. However, a gradual hearing loss finally got to the point where I knew I was going to have to dish out the money to get hearing aids.
Google searches gave me a decent idea of the type of features I wanted. A friend recommended a local business that sold good ones and I made the phone call.
A woman who sounded less than excited about doing what she was doing took my information, scheduled the initial appointment, and informed me that my audiologist would be Amy.
Amy is a nice enough name and I envisioned a bubbly young thing right out of college, eager to make her monthly quota by selling me the most expensive hearing aids they had. So, I was pleasantly surprised when Amy turned out to be a somewhat reserved, totally professional woman of about forty. She was no more than five- and one-half feet tall, if that, with the most incredible shoulder-length, darkish blonde hair. Several lighter highlights made it even more striking.
The hair framed a face featuring large, dark eyes, a little turned up nose, and thin lips on a small mouth. I love petite women and her body was just my style—not at all curvy, with just a hint of average breasts and a perfect ass accentuated by her tight, black pants.
Long before we even began the hearing tests, I was convinced I would buy whatever this girl was selling. I felt my pulse go up even as she stood near me, adjusting the headphones I had to wear. I suppose the tests were not entirely accurate as I could not take my eyes off Amy on the other side of the glass. Still, I dutifully raised my hand when I heard the beep, even while imagining what those breasts looked like under her sweater.
Once outside the testing booth, it was time for more questions.
"What environment do you have the most trouble hearing in, John?" she asked.
"Noisy ones like restaurants and coffee shops," I answered. "All the background noise makes it hard for me to understand people I'm talking to."
Amy nodded and gestured aimlessly at her computer screen. "Yes, the test results indicate that. I recommend you get hearing aids that are directional. By that I mean, the phone app you will use allows you to virtually point the hearing aids forward, blocking out the surrounding noise. I'll show you that when the time comes."
"Cool," I replied, more than already sold.
The rest was just picking out the exact model and color, as well as getting a mold of my ear canal for the personalized domes that came with the devices. All of this was fine as it extended my time with Amy. I was proud of myself that I got out of there without putting my hands on her even once. No small feat.
A couple weeks later, the call came that my hearing aids had arrived. Another appointment with Amy was necessary to make sure everything worked. I was psyched.
I sat impatiently in the waiting room until the door opened and a semi-smiling Amy called for me. She wore black pants again, which I assumed was an unofficial uniform. I took my seat in her office and Amy opened the small box containing my hearing aids. The molded earpieces fit perfectly and I laughed out loud when she asked me how they felt and her voice reverberated loudly in my ears.
"Oh my God! I don't EVER remember hearing this well," I exclaimed.
Amy smiled broadly and said, "Is it too loud?"
I shrugged and said, "I'm so happy that it's clear that I can't say if it's too loud or not."
"Let me show you the phone app so you can adjust it."
It took about twenty minutes to download and install the app, sync it with the hearing aids, and make the fine-tuning adjustments I wanted.
"Better?" Amy asked.
"Yes. But the test will be when I'm in Starbucks trying to listen to somebody talk."
"OK. Let me know how that goes when you come back for your two-week checkup. That's a free visit, of course."
"Or you can just meet me for coffee on your next day off," I said.
Needless to say, I was fully expecting an instant rejection to THAT idea. Instead, Amy grinned and shyly looked at the floor. When she looked back up, she said, "I'm off Thursday."
I think I was more shocked by her statement than she was by mine. I said, "Nine AM?"
"The Starbucks at Main and Third?" Amy replied.
"I'll be there."
I had two days to wait and I do not think a moment passed that I was not thinking about her. What, exactly, persuaded her to accept an offhand invitation from a man she did not know? Two hours or so of casual conversation centered around hearing aids hardly qualified as getting to know someone. My dazzling personality alone surely was not enough. Was she THAT desperate? Perhaps married and still desperate?
Thursday morning finally arrived and I anxiously waited for nine to arrive. When I walked into the Starbucks, I found Amy sitting in a secluded corner, showing me that Mona Lisa-like grin of hers. She was out of uniform, dressed in cut-off shorts and a Nirvana t-shirt.
"You beat me," I said.
"I'm a morning person. Was up early."
"What do you want to drink?" I asked.
"Grande skinny caramel Frappuccino with whipped cream. Hot."
I love no-nonsense women and Amy was one-by-one checking off every item on my list of what makes a woman perfect. If her personality matched her physical assets, I was going to be irreversibly smitten. I placed the order and returned to the table, sitting across from Amy.
"Thanks for coming," I said. "You may have gathered that I was a little surprised you accepted."
She shrugged. "Why not? Day off. Nothing planned. You don't strike me as an axe murderer."
"Fools them every time. It's when I invite you to dinner at my place you have to worry."
"Sorry," she said. "Not going to accept that one. Not yet anyway."
"Married?" I asked bluntly.
"Not anymore. Used to be...to an abusive addict," she said. "Put up with it far too long. It's really quite refreshing being on my own."
I sensed—perhaps incorrectly—that Amy's blunt approach to almost everything was lingering anger or frustration or something. Yet, an underlying wisdom came through. She was still shy with me, but I could work on that.
She asked, "How about you?"
"My wife died of cancer a few years ago. Still single."
"I'm sorry. Do you ever see yourself married again?"
"Maybe. Not soon," I said truthfully.
I heard my name called at the counter and picked up the drinks. Amy sat with her tanned legs crossed when I came back, comfortably sitting with her arm on one corner of the chair. It was a relaxed, confident pose.
We chatted and sipped our drinks, establishing that, yes, the new hearing aids were helping me in that environment. I also learned that Amy had one sister she rarely saw and parents on the other side of the country. She knew how to take care of herself.
