April 7, 2005

A post where I don't mention the boyfriend, not even once.

Most people hate the dentist. I'm sure I could search the internet and find some statistic, but I'd much rather make one up. 78% of people express some sort of dread about visiting the dentist. These are normally rational human beings, often with a proper sense of duty and self-preservation, but even the most steadfast hypochondriac won't set foot into a dentist's office without spurting blood and ultimatums. Somehow that scene from Little Shop of Horrors manifested itself into the collective psyche, and caused everyone to hatehatehatehatehate going to the dentist.

In this vein, I'd like to tell you about my recent trip to the dentist, and why I'm a member of that 78%.

My dentist is this short little balding man with a habit of asking really personal questions. He's also a master of turning the questions to himself, which makes it somewhat easier.

"Oh, you go to Madison? I thought about going there, but I decided against it. I went to Minnesota--have you been there? It's a much prettier campus that Madison, at least in my opinion. I had friends who went to Madison, way back in the dinosaur ages, ha ha, and they didn't like it there. They said that it was too big and that everyone got drunk all the time--that's not why you chose to go to Madison, right? You don't seem to have a beer belly, so that can't be it. Maybe it's to score with all the drunk chicks, I don't know. Anyways, I'm going to have to ask you to open your mouth so I can stick this inbetween your teeth and take some X-rays."

All right. Fine. Whatever. It's my spring break, I'd really much rather be doing anything else other than letting this creepy guy, whom I could squash like a bug if I were to stand up and lift my right leg, probe my mouth with various kinky instruments.

It was the standard dentist visit, until he started needling away at my molars, and he finally clammed up and got to work. He reached over to a little radio on the counter and turned it up. 4 o'clock. It must be time for Dr. Laura.

And so, while everyone else's dentist stories are filled with blood and gum destruction, mine was coupled with fire and brimstone! Lovely me. The first story, of which she spent most of her time ranting about, was about a young man who wasn't sure if his new wife was a true American citizen. Not in a "She doesn't have a yellow bumper sticker on her car and yesterday she said something that sounded like criticism of the president" sort of way, but in a "She's Mexican and I find it hard to believe that the entire family got green cards all at the same time" sort of way.
Immediately, Dr. Laura's human face was ripped off and you could hear the voice of Satan booming throughout the studio.

"You need to call your local INS and report your entire family. I can't believe that you would even hesitate. There are some duties that come before marriage, and you're duty as an American citizen outweighs whatever marital feelings you may hold for this wetb-- (you could tell she wanted to use an ethnic slur, but stopped herself) In fact, I'm tempted to trace the call and turn you in to your local police myself. Aiding and abetting an illegal immigrant is a felony. A felony. These people are ruining America. They're clogging the hospitals. They're slowing down the highways. They're stealing jobs from honest American citizens. They're making it harder to ensure the safety of American citizens. They're the reasons why your taxes are so high. You have to promise me right now that you are going to hang up the phone and report your wife to the INS. You have to promise me right now."

Hearing that I had no cavities was a welcome change from the hatred spewing forth from her mouth. Her next caller was a mother who suspected her son of 'the sin that must not speak it's name.' Yes, she did actually call it that, and I'm tempted to steal that line. Fortunately, I was done, and so I only got to hear Dr. Laura's first few sentences--

"This is not your son's fault. This is your fault as a mother and a provider."

On that note I left the office.

And that is why I hate the dentist.
Here lies a most ridiculous raw youth, indulging himself in the literary graces that he once vowed to eschew. Now he just rocks out.