I've been going to the same dentist office since I was six or seven years old, most likely longer than any person actually working in the office. I had a great dentist for years, as well as a great hygienist. She was gentle and careful, which is much appreciated. She retired within the last couple of years. Her replacement is nice enough, but I do believe she was, at one time, a bullfighter.
I arrived ten minutes early. I usually run a few funny lines through my head as I know I am always going to get drilled (no pun intended) for not flossing enough. I'm a bleeder. My failure to floss isn't because I don't want to. I don't floss because I forget. I have a roll of floss sitting on the shelf on the bathroom mirror, which is directly in my face. I have another roll in the top drawer of my desk at work. But for whatever reason, I just can't get it into the routine. I do floss when I remember. Thus, knowing the hygienist is going to give me crap about my flossing, I just try to keep it light with a few zingers to come back with. One time my old hygienist was working on me and I could hear the hygienist in the next room ask her patient, "Have you been flossing?" He responded with a series of distracting responses. I whispered to my hygienist, "He didn't floss either." She burst into laughter.
My hygienist, who I will refer to as Conan, as in the Barbarian, not the late night talk show host, calls me in and preps me. Shades on, towel thing tied around my neck, and stretched out on the fun chair. Conan grabs her ice pick and goes to work. I can taste the blood within the third poke. "Still not flossing," she says with an air of "You're going to pay for this" in her tone. It was the tone that told me to not even try to throw a funny quip her way. I looked up with her hunched over me. "What was that smell, " I thought to myself. I then realized she did not pull her mask over her entire face. She left her nose exposed, thus was breathing directly into my open mouth... and she had a little booger right on the edge of her nose.
What the Hell? She's supposed to have the mask over her mouth and nose! What if she was intentionally trying to spread her zombie affliction upon me? And with her vengeful tone, all I could assume was she was out to get me.
I began attempting to time my breath with hers so I would inhale as she was inhaling as to avoid her stale breath and any toxins that were drifting from her nose, and then would repel her breath with mine on the exhale. She stabbed her way through my mouth. With every suction of the hose, I could see a swirl of red. My blood. Gone. Gone forever. It looked like one of those whaling ships where they process the whale body. Just a massive puddle of blood. She wrapped up the scraping and I could tell my gums were bloody and swollen. She then did the polishing.
Throughout both procedures I watched the little booger flicker back and forth as she took air in and blew air out through her nose. I had visions of the little booger breaking free and going directly into my mouth. Somehow, this never happened.
By the end of the polishing I could feel the pain that would linger throughout the day. I swear Conan had a slight smile on her face. She then explained it was time to measure my gums and teeth. This was new to me. She pulled out an even sharper fighting utensil. Another hygienist came in to record numbers. Conan would jab my gum line and give out a number. Anything over three was going to get me in trouble. I had a number of fours.
Afterward she explained all those fours were bad because my gums were swollen. I argued back to her (in my imagination). Of course they're swollen. She just conducted an autopsy on my mouth.
The dentist came in to take a look and earned his 90% of the day's income with his three second viewing of my mouth. All was well. I had survived the stabbing. Men have gone to prison for lesser assaults.
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