I’m 22 and hard of hearing. I grew up using both speech and sign language, depending on the space. It wasn’t always easy, but I’ve learned to tune out the stares.
That day, I was at a café with my Deaf best friend, signing and laughing over coffee in our usual corner.
Then an entitled woman in oversized sunglasses, dripping attitude, marched over with her arms crossed.
Her: “Excuse me, can you not do that here?”
Me: “Do what?”
Her: “The hand thing. My son’s trying to eat, and you’re being very distracting.”
I blinked. “You mean… sign language?”
Her: “Yes. It looks aggressive. Like—what even are you saying? He’s trying to learn proper manners, and you’re out here flapping around like it’s a game.”
I stayed calm. “You could teach him that people communicate in different ways. That’s a valuable lesson.”
She scoffed, full dramatic eye-roll.
Her: “Oh, please. This is why kids today grow up so confused. Everyone’s trying to be special. It’s rude. Just say things like a normal person.”
At that point, the entire café got quiet. Her kid looked mortified.
That’s when the waiter stepped in.
He came over, tray in hand, with the most polite but pointed smile. 
