Dentists
/I had a dental appointment this morning.
My dentist does a great job and his staff is terrific. Almost too terrific. Like, scary-terrific. There is definently some sort of "Stepford-wives" dental hygenist thing going on here.
First off, these dental hygenists are just waaay to happy to see me. Even my family who loves me dearly and hasn't seen me in months doesn't greet me with the pep-squad enthusiasm this team shows.
Then there's the memory game. These women must take notes when I'm not looking. I see them only every six months yet they recall with shark-like precision every word of our last conversation.
Hygenist: "So, you had that big presentation coming up the last time you were here. How'd that go?
Me (with tools in my mouth): "Aargh, aumgh da."
Them: "And didn't you just celebrate an anniversary? What is that now? 10 years, 4 months and 3 days?"
Spooky.
But they show a greater interest in my life than the majority of my extended family. How can one not be flattered? Plus, they are obviously buttering the clients up for when they come at us with the drills, scrapers, scalpels, and other deadly instruments found in the common dental office.
It amazes me the trust I put in these people. Today, for example, my hygenist informed me I had one small area of plague.
"I'm going to use the ultrasound ray-of-death to treat it," she said. (Okay, maybe she didn't really say "ray-of-death," but I can't remember the actual name and I'm pretty sure "ray-of-death" is close). "Let me know if you feel any discomfort."
She stuck something in my mouth and I heard a squealing and humming and felt vibrations and thought I saw an odd purple light being cast on my bottom lip and it never occurred to me this wasn't perfectly fine. That's just weird. Later she draped me in a lead apron and took x-rays. Pointing cancer-causing rays at my face? No problem, and hey, can I get some take-home floss?
Sometimes I ponder messing up their copious note-taking by making things up about my life. So when I pop in for my next 6-month visit they'll greet me with a cheery smile and a "So, how's house arrest been?" Or, "Did that retail sex-toy site you were going to start work out for you? Was the leather whip the big seller you thought it would be?"
At least I won't have to talk back to them with appliances in my mouth. I'll be too busy laughing.
My dentist does a great job and his staff is terrific. Almost too terrific. Like, scary-terrific. There is definently some sort of "Stepford-wives" dental hygenist thing going on here.
First off, these dental hygenists are just waaay to happy to see me. Even my family who loves me dearly and hasn't seen me in months doesn't greet me with the pep-squad enthusiasm this team shows.
Then there's the memory game. These women must take notes when I'm not looking. I see them only every six months yet they recall with shark-like precision every word of our last conversation.
Hygenist: "So, you had that big presentation coming up the last time you were here. How'd that go?
Me (with tools in my mouth): "Aargh, aumgh da."
Them: "And didn't you just celebrate an anniversary? What is that now? 10 years, 4 months and 3 days?"
Spooky.
But they show a greater interest in my life than the majority of my extended family. How can one not be flattered? Plus, they are obviously buttering the clients up for when they come at us with the drills, scrapers, scalpels, and other deadly instruments found in the common dental office.
It amazes me the trust I put in these people. Today, for example, my hygenist informed me I had one small area of plague.
"I'm going to use the ultrasound ray-of-death to treat it," she said. (Okay, maybe she didn't really say "ray-of-death," but I can't remember the actual name and I'm pretty sure "ray-of-death" is close). "Let me know if you feel any discomfort."
She stuck something in my mouth and I heard a squealing and humming and felt vibrations and thought I saw an odd purple light being cast on my bottom lip and it never occurred to me this wasn't perfectly fine. That's just weird. Later she draped me in a lead apron and took x-rays. Pointing cancer-causing rays at my face? No problem, and hey, can I get some take-home floss?
Sometimes I ponder messing up their copious note-taking by making things up about my life. So when I pop in for my next 6-month visit they'll greet me with a cheery smile and a "So, how's house arrest been?" Or, "Did that retail sex-toy site you were going to start work out for you? Was the leather whip the big seller you thought it would be?"
At least I won't have to talk back to them with appliances in my mouth. I'll be too busy laughing.
