My Turn: A shared language of coffee — and ASL

The scene was a rainy Saturday morning at Dunkin’ in Oyster Bay.

Four deaf adults are congregated at the register, attempting to place an order. First using sign language to communicate among themselves, then laboriously tapping out the orders on a cell phone to show the counter attendant. Naturally, the counter person had the standard laundry list of follow-up questions for each order (which, frankly, until that time, I’d never even given much thought to): Iced or hot? Small, medium or large? Sweet foam or regular?

Unsurprisingly, this back and forth was not a quick process, and it was not going well. What was surprising, however, was that the people waiting on the line, which had now grown to the door, were showing no signs of impatience (perhaps minimized by our collective lack of caffeine or, perhaps, more charitably, by compassion). While none of us knew the order, we all knew what this group was looking for. It’s what we all are looking for: someone who understands. In the context of a coffee order, not a big deal, but at the moment, it was rather heartbreaking to witness. Until . . .

From the midst of the line steps forth a beautiful, young yoga pant-clad woman (I had noticed her and her boyfriend earlier, straight from central casting for a ’50s era quarterback and homecoming queen). She says out loud (presumably for the crowd’s benefit) and in American Sign Language: “I know sign language, maybe I can help?” And help she did.

Her vocabulary was advanced enough to communicate “pumpkin donut,” “no, no the glazed chocolate” and “medium iced latte,” and her skills were more than sufficient for the standard fare. She completed the order on their behalf, and stepped back in line, as if this was perfectly ordinary.

The boyfriend seemed as surprised as the rest of us.

I overheard some explanation of spending time at the local Mill Neck Manor School for the Deaf, and that the group’s next stop was the annual apple festival held there. Apparently, in addition to helping with their breakfast orders, she was also able to exchange pleasantries of the day.

Like all good heroes, she seemed unaware of the small miracle she had just performed, while the rest of us stood in awe. It was an amazing bit of good fortune that this woman happened to be in line, at this precise moment. And it was my good fortune to have been able to witness this unself-conscious slice of humanity. Particularly on a day, and in a time, where humanity and generosity seem to be in increasingly short supply.

The couple waved me off with a chuckle when, with tears in my eyes, I insisted on picking up their tab, assuring me, “It was nothing.”

But someday my young friends will understand, actually, it was everything.

Dorian Rehfield-Marshall

Wantagh