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Dentists In the Afternoon

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Dentists in the Afternoon… I hate that song!

 I hate the dentist, like unnatural discomfort, as in probable phobia. I could make a list of things, horrible things, that I’d rather do than go the dentist that if rolled out would circle the earth eleven times. I’m not talkin’ icky things like “eat scorpions” or “stick my hand in a toilet at a Mexican restaurant”, (although those are numbers 16 and 11,289 respectively). No, I’m talking about things so disgusting that even I can’t say them to myself.


One good thing about the dentist is that I can always get an afternoon appointment, which in turn means that I don’t have to go back to work, i.e. I get to have a mini-vacation every six months. That’s pretty cool I guess, but it doesn’t mean that I think any better of going to the dentist, it just means I like using my sick leave as vacation.


I find that of all the medical professions, dentistry is still a very medieval practice. There doesn’t seem to be very much “modern marvel”. They still use metal hooks to scrape and poke you for crying in the night. It’s downright savage.


I like the “napkin” they place on you with roach clips. That’s classy and sophisticated. Every time they put it on me, I always say, “Oh boy, are we having ribs?” It’s never gotten a laugh. I don’t expect it to get belly rolls, but it’s never even gotten a smile. I guess hygienists are just very solemn people. My guess is that it related to having to smell and see people’s teeth after lunch. “I brushed my teeth at work in the bathroom. I thought they were clean.” Whatever…


Besides the prehistoric, caveman tools, lack of humor and general anxiety attacks, the things that always gets me about the dentist is the gloves in my mouth. I’ve had a technician or two stick the powdery ones in my mouth before. Talk about disgusting. Why don’t they make flavored latex gloves? Everything else in that damn office is mint flavored, why not the latex? What’s that? They do? Oh… I hate my dentist.


Not only for that, but because I am no longer offered a dip in the treasure chest on my way out. I think the Porsche in the parking lot can allow me a two cent prize.


Egg On!
Ramblin’ Rooster

Written by Ramblin' Rooster

May 1, 2009 at 4:04 am