The Dentist

June 14, 2011
The smell hit me the instant I walked through the door. It reminded me of when I visit my

great grandmother in her old folk’s home: a combination of an old lady’s perfume and a thirty

year old carpet. I hadn’t been to the dentist in about four years because they stopped sending

those cheesy postcards in the mail reminding me I needed a check up. So I took the golden

opportunity to never step foot in that dentist office ever again. However, one unfaithful day I let

it slip to my sister that I hadn’t been to the dentist in years. She, in turn, told my parents, who

then made me an appointment. I haven’t spoken to my sister since.

A young, chipper voice greeted me from reception. I looked up from texting to see a

twenty-something year old woman sitting behind a computer that was so old it was as yellow as

the stained teeth on those before and after posters hanging up on the wall. It took up half her desk

but her insincere smile showed she didn’t mind it. If this is where a high school diploma got her,

I then got a good look at the lobby. It looked exactly the same as it did when I got my

teeth cleaned here years ago. The same plastic train set sat in a milk crate in the corner beside a

chair that if I tried to sit in now, my butt would most definitely get stuck. The same magazines

about fun summer activities for the family and how Brad broke Jen’s heart sat on the windowsill

of the bay window. Everything was the same except the receptionist. She was new.

“Someone will be with you shortly,” she told me.

I walked over to the midget chair, but thankfully before I could attempt to cram my butt

into it a lady said she was ready to see me. She had grey hair with some white peppered into it.

Her glasses distracted from the tired bags that hung under her wrinkly eyes. She was awkwardly

short compared to me. I felt like she was about to guide me into a tree where she’d teach me how

to bake Keebler fudge striped cookies. But I wouldn’t complain, because those cookies are the

As I watched her direct me to the room I was about to have my mouth murdered in, I

noticed she was wearing all white. I felt like a patient in an insane asylum. When I walked into

the room that was about the size of my bedroom closet, I had to keep myself from bursting into

laughter. Not only did the front lobby look exactly the same, the little cleaning rooms looked

exactly the same too. Same carpet, same lame monkey poster hanging on the ceiling above the

chair that said “Cleaning teeth is serious business”. Even the same classical music playing on the

same radio that she probably got when radios were first invented.

I stood in the center of the room honestly forgetting what to do when you first enter the

teeth assault closet. Do I just sit down in the gum disease ridden chair? Can you imagine how

many people have probably farted in that thing over the years? Do they really expect me to want

to sit on something with green-vomit colored fabric that is also hard and rubbery like they’re

about to strap me down and dissect me? And they wonder why people hate going to the dentist. I

hate when you tell people you hate going to the dentist and they just assume it’s because you

don’t take care of your teeth. No. It’s because I don’t want to waste my time having my gums

scrapped out by captain hook when I am perfectly capable of flossing my own teeth at home.

“You can take your jacket off if you like.”

Good because I sweating balls in this place. I threw my jacket on a plastic pink chair in

“So you haven’t seen us in a while, have you?” she asked as she looked through my file.

“Nope.” And I was damn proud of it.

“It seems your x-rays need to be updated.”

Oh joy, another thing to keep me here even longer. Have you ever thought about how

much quicker these types of things would be if they were made into game shows? You have

thirty seconds to give your patient fluoride aaaaand floss between all their teeth! GO! These

thoughts kept my mind entertained for about the better half of the appointment.

She kept having to ask me to open my mouth wider. B****, what if I just have a naturally

small mouth? I thought about how easily I could’ve just spit in her face just then. I wonder if a

dentist has ever just been cleaning some dude’s teeth, a perfectly normal guy, and all of a sudden

he just flings the hugest glob of saliva at his or her face. But these thoughts soon got interrupted

by the lady’s boobs planting themselves on my shoulder. Perhaps I would enjoy this if I was a

dude and about fifty years older, but I’m not. So this just served as another reason why I hate the

Then came the spit sucker. My worst enemy. Before I knew him as my best friend who

would save me years ago from drowning in my own saliva, but this visit he turned on me. It was

like Snape turning on Dumbledore: you never saw it coming. Every time he entered my mouth

he obliterated everything in his path. The gross flaps of fleshy mouth skin underneath my tongue

had been torn to shreds. The dumb dentist lady kept stabbing them with her almighty spit sucker.

I thought the tears in the corners of my eyes would be obvious enough to make her notice the

pain and suffering she was causing, but she didn’t stop until she had my entire left mouth-skin-

flap-thingy trapped inside the spit sucker of doom. She had to use all her strength to pull it away

and once my mouth flesh was freed, it throbbed and swelled so much I could barely close my

mouth. Keebler elf tried to play it off like she didn’t just rip the bottom of my mouth off, but I

knew. I could taste the blood. Just another reason why I hate the dentist.

After she was done destroying the bottom of my mouth, some Asian guy walked in,

plopped down on a chair, and started rubbing my throat. What ever happened to buying a girl a

drink first? But I had dealt with this guy once before, and he did the same thing last time.

Obviously, I have an irresistible neck that he couldn’t keep himself from touching. It’s a

continuous problem I run into daily. People just stop and rub my neck. It’s something I’ve had to

Now, I’m not racist or anything, but I couldn’t understand anything this guy said to me.

He flipped through some papers in my folders and made a comment which apparently was

comical, because Keebler elf laughed at it. And the dumb mouth cover that dentists wear didn’t

help at all in this situation. I felt like I was ordering Chinese food over the phone and I was

losing connection with him. I played it safe and didn’t say anything.

The Asian guy then took a crowbar and poked the center of each of my molars with it. I

had to keep from cracking a smile due to the fact that he chose the largest dentist tool to do the

least amount of work. This guy gets paid the big bucks to molest peoples’ throats but the old lady

is the one that has to scrape the crusted layers of plaque off of lazy Americans’ teeth. Society is

I understood that. Damn straight I have flawless teeth. It’s like I have thirty-two

glistening pearls nestled in my gums. People line up to see these suckers. I should charge

admission to lay eyes on these beautiful pieces of ivory.

“Here’s your goodie bag.” The teeth cleaning lady handed it to me as I headed out the

Oh, goodie. A tooth brush, a reel of floss, and a tube of toothpaste that’ll last me three

days. It’s almost too good to be true. I grabbed the bag and reached for the doorknob, my mouth

still tasting of blood but my mind set on getting in my car and speeding out of the parking lot. I

was so ready to leave this hellish dentistry, and I only intended on seeing this place again in my

“You have to schedule another appointment.”

Damn you, receptionist lady. Damn you. I was almost in the clear, and you caught me.

You caught me within seconds of sweet, sweet freedom. I didn’t think she’d be able to see past

her colossal computer monitor, but somehow she managed to catch me. I blame the bell above

the door for ratting me out. It was like I was in prison trying to escape, and I accidentally set the

alarms off. I was trapped. There was no way out now. That’s probably why they have the bell, so

when people try to slyly flee the building, the receptionist can stop them in their tracks and force

them into making another appointment.

After making an appointment for six months later, I walked out of the building with a

bitter taste in my mouth, although it might’ve just been the blood. I scowled as I made my way

to my car, knowing that when I got home my sister and parents would not hear the end of this.

It’s because of them I no longer have taste buds. Oh well, eating food was fun while it lasted. So

thanks sis, just another reason I hate the dentist.





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