Dear Readers,
After a late night and little sleep, I became painfully aware that I had just two hours left to catch more z’s when the light started seeping through my curtains. That’s when it happened again. Instead of falling into deep sleep, my brain dragged me into another dream where it mixed a tiny bit of reality with a whole lot of fantasy—thus creating another mini story for you all.
The story isn’t a full account of the dream (you know how dreams are—messy, blurry, and half made of cereal commercials), but it’s a creative piece based on the parts I actually remember.
Happy Reading.
⸻
🎬 Dream Job, Deaf Drama & One Very Flat Monitor
July 2034. The system meant to support disabled folks had gone up the wall, out the window, and possibly off a cliff. Most people who couldn’t work were living in poverty—except for the lucky few of us who got roped into a scheme disguised as charity but actually kind of genius.
The idea? Renovate old buildings and let disabled people “run” a workplace based entirely on their hobbies. We didn’t work nine-to-five. We worked “whenever,” at “whatever pace,” and somehow—miraculously—still got paid. The system restored our benefits if we showed “meaningful progress.” (Meaningful? I once submitted a 45-second cat montage and got a bonus.)
My hobby? Video editing. Naturally.
I worked in a small office with two desks smooshed into a Tetris-like configuration. On one side: my trusty Windows laptop with a spreadsheet open so wide it could block an asteroid. On the other: a shiny Mac, purely for crafting video masterpieces… that would, admittedly, be handed off to companies who’d probably run them through 17 layers of AI filters until they looked like an infomercial for headache balm.
Still, it paid the bills. And I had two monitors. Two! A luxury.
I shared the room with John and George. John was built like a linebacker in khakis and a faded green tee, while George looked like a pocket-sized professor in a crisp blue blazer and matching pants. Between them, a kind of mysterious magic happened—signing back and forth with full-body expressions and flying hands whenever Ellen (our administrator) left the room. Which was… often. Suspiciously often.
I never quite figured out what John and George did. Sometimes I’d catch a sign that looked like “writing” or “video.” Were they… secretly building the sets I edited? Contributing captions?
Whenever George noticed me watching, he’d shoot me a glare that could melt steel. I’d instantly duck behind my monitor and pretend I was editing when, in reality, I was probably playing a side quest in Stardew Valley. Research, obviously.
Then came That Day.
The Mac crashed mid-edit. The monitor attached to the Windows laptop shorted out with a pop and a puff of sadness. Ellen, already halfway out the door for a “very important meeting,” turned back like a tornado in heels.
“I have another one!” she shouted, wrestling a massive replacement monitor out of the supply closet like it was a grand prize on Wheel of Fortune. “You’ll have to connect it yourself though. Gotta run!”
She turned to John and signed something rapid and fluid. I caught: “I go meeting. Phone, answer, use sign language interpreter.”
Holy crap. My classes were working.
I turned to ask John for help with the cables—he’d helped me before, using my iPad and Apple Pencil to write things out—but caught him staring at his laptop like it had insulted his entire lineage. I stomped the floor for attention and signed-slash-mouthed, “Where is George?”
John looked up, sighed dramatically, and… spoke. Out loud. Clear, crisp, no hint of what some might call a “Deaf accent.”
“I don’t know where he goes. Something about building the set for your videos. It’s taking too long this time. He’ll be tired.”
I blinked. “You… talk?”
He nodded, pulling a bright blue device from his pocket. “I have a CI. It’s broken. New one’s expensive. I like the silence. That’s why I work at this department. Ellen signs, it’s easier”
That was the moment George returned—right as John and I were chatting like old pals.
His face twisted.
“You talk to hearing?!” he signed furiously, with enough force to shake the air. “You Deaf. Talk with Deaf. Use sign. Not voice!”
I froze. John looked like someone had just erased his favorite emoji. Then George took his laptop, turned his back to us, and curled into an emotional burrito.
I stood up, walked over to George’s desk, and—clonk—knee’d the corner. “You done?” I signed bluntly.
John gasped. “Wait, you can sign?!” I heard him ask from behind me.
I turned and signed, “Yes, watch.” But before I could sign more, George bolted out the room like a thundercloud on rollerblades.
Before I could chase him, the phone rang.
John flinched like it was a live grenade. I slid into Ellen’s chair, donned the headset, and took a deep breath.
“Good morning, this is Don,” I said, signing as I spoke. “I’m the sign language interpreter for John, who will be taking your call. How can I help?”
The call was about new scripts for the next round of video captions. I interpreted. Fingerspelled half the dictionary. Probably signed “cabbage” instead of “camera” at some point. But we got through it.
Afterward, John was beaming. “Wow. When? Why? How long signing?”
That’s when George came back in, face full of guilt. “Sorry,” he signed cautiously.
“Sit,” I signed as I glared at George, accidentally channeling my inner sign language drill sergeant.
I explained everything: the poor eyesight, the busted ear, the beep-that-never-sleeps (aka tinnitus) in my other ear. How I’d started learning to sign not just for fun, but because my body practically demanded it. And how, after working in this weird dreamlike office together, I realized signing wasn’t just for me—it was for us.
“You watched us?” George asked, eyes wide.
“I thought… you like me.”
“No,” I signed—then immediately backpedaled. “I mean—not love. Like, friends maybe. But I watch you signing… I learn.”
That was the moment we truly became a team.
I found out George did build the sets for the videos I edited. John captioned the videos. Together, we were three parts of a weird little creative machine. We even talked about music—how lyrics and rhythm could help feel a song even without hearing it. George quoted Taylor Swift. John nodded like a man who’d finally found his people.
After fixing the monitor (which had spent six hours facedown like a fallen pancake), John taught me how to connect it. Then George and I taught him how to play the video game I’d been secretly playing on work time.
By the time Ellen returned, disheveled but victorious from her meeting, we were practically doing the Cha Cha Slide in sign language.
The bosses had agreed: progress over productivity. Communication over clock-watching. Ellen was relieved. We were thrilled.
And just like that, what started as a broken monitor and a misunderstanding turned into the beginning of something kind of beautiful.
The End… or maybe just the pilot episode. 🎮📚💬
Disclaimer: In reality, I don’t use ASL. I use Sign Supported Dutch, though nowhere near fluently enough to re create what was happening in my dream. I’ve never taken proper classes. I followed De Nederlandse GebarenChallenge (The Dutch Sign Language Challenge) 6 years ago where I learned a little over 500 signs. I do have hearing loss. My left ear only functions at 50%. Right at 85% and therfore I feel very stuck between the Deaf and Hearing cultures. I’d like to dig deeper into the Deaf culture and make more use of the sign language I know. I’m working on it, but that’s news for a later blog. The references I made in the dream (Sign with Deaf people, don’t use your voice) are based on experiences that I had at school where the Deaf children were largely separated from hearing children. At that time, we didn’t know I have hearing loss. I speak without a so-called ‘Deaf accent’ and can communicate like any other hearing person (as long as I’m in a fairly silent room such as a classroom.) It resulted in a lot of ‘Deaf vs Hearing’ bullying during school time. I felt more comfortable around the Deaf children but didn’t understand why and was constantly asked (or forced) to move along because everyone thought I was a ‘Hearing Child’. It’s probably why my brain creates dreams like this when I sleep. Thanks for taking the time to read. See you in the next one! 🤟
CRS Life 