The Drill: If you can't say something nice, post it in your web-blog.
My scheduled hour and twenty minute dentist appointment turned into a three hour grind.
The dentist was behind (0verbooked). After a significant amount of time in the waiting room reading Macleans I was relocated to a dentists chair and made to wait for another 20 minutes before being injected with novocain and left to wait again in the company of last winters Fashion magazine. It took me a max of 5 minutes to read all of the articles and another 10 minutes of drooling on my chest and over Mr. Lagerfeld and his bad wig before the drilling began.
Imagine an hour and twenty minutes of having your teeth bored (PUN!) while listening to two late twenties/early thirty somthings go on and on about; their kids, their partners favorite TV shows, planned vacations to Disney World, why they cannot invite a specific couple on a camping trip because they are childless, their favorite breed of dog, how Madagascar seems like a fun family film but in no way superior to Shrek, favorite brand of jogging shoes, how trail jogging and street jogging shoes differ greatly... All the while your dentist and hygienist are ignoring your facial contortions and occasional moans.
After having my mouth stretched apart to a degree I never through possible (1), the saliva thoroughly sucked from my gums and tongue (2), and being subjected to enough babbling straight-parent talk to convince me that sterilization in a valid option, my teeth were still not properly fixed. The filling was jagged and rough to the touch. Without even lowering the chair the dentist attacked my mouth with his nasty, nasty bit. Later on in the day I ate some filling with my ice cream.
The moral of the story is: breeders are folks who cannot control their [drill]bits.
(1) This is a significant accomplishment. Not to boast, but in responce to Mr. Hendrix I would have to answer: "Yes, I am experienced". I'm only being partially candid.
(2) See (1).
posted by my lost left leg @ 7:54 PM
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