Deaf Stories

Fuck, thought Joy, as she settled into her cubicle at the Royal National Institute for the Deaf Message Relay Centre. Eight more hours relaying inane bullshit down a telephone line, she continued to self-commiserate, as she logged onto her TTY: huge and modern, like a typewriter on steroids, with handset and microphone to match, the latest in 1990s technology. How are the mighty fallen! she moaned silently as she donned h...