Dental Drama

I swing through the doors of my dentist's office as though entering everyone's favorite Boston bar. Instead of yelling "Norm," my name elicits a cheer as I arrive for my scheduled appointment at my second home. "How was your day, Amy," the effervescent receptionist asks. I scowl at her. "Just great, Rach. I leaped out of bed this morning, thrilled to be getting a root canal. Even better, I got to work before coming here" Staff and clients cracked up, laughing while I looked around, confused, not realizing that this office came equipped with its own laugh track. "How's teaching going," the dental assistant inquired after I showed her an article from one of their outdated magazines about the new trend in yogurt flavors such as pumpkin, beet and butternut squash. "It's like baby food for adults," I explained in disgust before answering her question. "Turns out, I may not be meant for the teaching profession," I told her, "I held up a picture of The Mona Lisa and asked my third graders to share their first impressions." She nodded approvingly, thinking about yogurt. "That sounds meaningful. What was wrong with that?" I stared off into space, remembering, watching my career flash in front of my face. "Well, one of my little art historians raised her hand and asked me if it was a picture of Halle Berry." Cue laugh track.

Since the government feels like enacting laws dictating every little facet of my existence, shouldn't they impose legislation requiring all dental and gynecological offices to install flat-screen televisions onto every ceiling? Instead, I'm trapped in a reclining 70 degree angle, blinded by bright lights with sharp instruments tunneling through my tooth to the gum line for two and a half hours while my dentist regales me with childhood stories of his neighbor, Mr. Martin who pioneered anti-bullying programs by rounding up a posse of nine-year-old boys to retaliate the recent ambush of a gang of unruly 6th graders. "In the car, boys," roared Mr. Martin, giving the group a pep talk the likes to rival that of Knute Rockne before unleashing them upon the older boys (with predictably disastrous consequences).  I stared up at the blank ceiling, listening. Nearly three hours later, he finally removed the sharp dental implements and stared at me. "You can close your mouth now, Amy," he said at last. Easy for him to say as my jaw was practically locked in position. 

My head throbbing, I made my way toward the exit to hear, "How will you be paying today?" I waved my arms wild, taking in the whole room, "Put it on my tab," I said grandly, "in fact, all dental procedures today are on me!" The room cheered as I disappeared through the door. "See you next week, Amy" yelled Carla (I mean, Rachel). I'm not sure I like having everyone at the dentist office know my name.