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persephone33 Dec. 1st, 2008 12:40 pm)
persephone33 Dec. 1st, 2008 12:40 pm)You walk in the door and the torture begins. The canned Christmas music and the receptionist's saccharine grin are almost too much to bear at 8:25 in the morning. And who knew a Muzaked rendition of "O Holy Night' would make me homicidal? Maybe ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
maureen, possibly? Go figure.
The hygienist tries to make conversation while having HER ENTIRE HAND SHOVED IN MY MOUTH, while scraping what I can only assume must be the dental equivalent to superglue from the surfaces of my teeth. She makes a face; I think she's making a face, because her little mask covers her mouth and nose, and she murmurs in a disappointed tone, "Tartar," like some people say, "Apartheid."
She camped out on one tooth for like 15 minutes. How can one have more tartar than another?? EXPLAIN THIS TO ME, PLEASE! Only I couldn't ask, because she had those torture devices shoved in my mouth, and I swear, I think if you move too quickly, they could lop off your tongue AND THEN WHERE WOULD YOU BE?
She looked like a sweet girl, but honestly, who'd want to spend their days inflicting pain, or at the very least intense discomfort, on the people you work with on a daily basis? There's something fundamentally wrong with someone who chooses that as a vocation. I'm sorry. I'm just sayin'.
The sound of the polishing drill thingy seriously makes every hair on every square inch of my body stand on end. It's awful. And the choice of flavors of toothpaste? Strawberry, chocolate or mint? Um, if I want flavor, I'll EAT, thankyouverymuch. I chose mint. You will not ruin chocolate for me, oh dental hygienist from hell.
And the gritty toothpaste that they use? It isn't like normal toothpaste. It has gravel or something in it. Even after the tablespoon of water that they give you to rinse with, later in the day you bite down and it's like, "Damn! A ROCK! FROM THE TOOTHPASTE!"
Then the dentist (who has mild Parkinson's disease, but I've never needed to be drilled on, so I figure I'm good, for now) comes in. He's a very nice man, and asks me HOW I AM. It took a great deal of restraint (of which I don't have a lot of today, apparently) not to say, "I was alright until Suzie (Joseph) Mengele got hold of me. Now I hurt, frankly."
I said that I was well, thank you.
And then he proclaimed me cavity free, so $150 later, I sprinted from the office, comforted that I don't have to do that again 'til June.
Thank GOD.
maureen, possibly? Go figure.The hygienist tries to make conversation while having HER ENTIRE HAND SHOVED IN MY MOUTH, while scraping what I can only assume must be the dental equivalent to superglue from the surfaces of my teeth. She makes a face; I think she's making a face, because her little mask covers her mouth and nose, and she murmurs in a disappointed tone, "Tartar," like some people say, "Apartheid."
She camped out on one tooth for like 15 minutes. How can one have more tartar than another?? EXPLAIN THIS TO ME, PLEASE! Only I couldn't ask, because she had those torture devices shoved in my mouth, and I swear, I think if you move too quickly, they could lop off your tongue AND THEN WHERE WOULD YOU BE?
She looked like a sweet girl, but honestly, who'd want to spend their days inflicting pain, or at the very least intense discomfort, on the people you work with on a daily basis? There's something fundamentally wrong with someone who chooses that as a vocation. I'm sorry. I'm just sayin'.
The sound of the polishing drill thingy seriously makes every hair on every square inch of my body stand on end. It's awful. And the choice of flavors of toothpaste? Strawberry, chocolate or mint? Um, if I want flavor, I'll EAT, thankyouverymuch. I chose mint. You will not ruin chocolate for me, oh dental hygienist from hell.
And the gritty toothpaste that they use? It isn't like normal toothpaste. It has gravel or something in it. Even after the tablespoon of water that they give you to rinse with, later in the day you bite down and it's like, "Damn! A ROCK! FROM THE TOOTHPASTE!"
Then the dentist (who has mild Parkinson's disease, but I've never needed to be drilled on, so I figure I'm good, for now) comes in. He's a very nice man, and asks me HOW I AM. It took a great deal of restraint (of which I don't have a lot of today, apparently) not to say, "I was alright until Suzie (Joseph) Mengele got hold of me. Now I hurt, frankly."
I said that I was well, thank you.
And then he proclaimed me cavity free, so $150 later, I sprinted from the office, comforted that I don't have to do that again 'til June.
Thank GOD.
