Going to the dentist is something that has never really bothered me in the past, my teeth are in good shape and Shaun, my dentist, is a pretty cool guy to chat with. Well, at least he always used to be.
As I am sure you all know having a conversation with your dentist is not an easy task at the best of times. I have no idea how they learn to understand someone, who has a hand stuffed in their mouth, reply to those questions. Every dentist does it. They talk to you and expect you to answer them, and then they actually know what you said. It must be a speciality course in linguistics that they all take in dental school.
Another thing that all dentists have in common… they all sit on your right side. That used to be fine, however Achmed occupies the primary listening space on my right side now and everything there sounds like the teachers on Charlie Brown cartoons.
So, as Shaun and the hygienist chatted me up while they were working on my choppers, I sat there, well, lay there I guess, and responded with grunts because I was pretty sure that no matter how good his interpretation skills are, he wasn’t going to understand what I should have probably told him before he stuck his hand in my mouth in the first place. The problem with telling him in advance, or at least I thought, was I really didn’t want to throw anyone, who was going to be sticking things in my mouth, off their game by giving them some news that could potentially make them uncomfortable. Can you imagine what might have happened if that little Greek man from Halifax was my dentist? I’d probably still be in the chair with a water suction machine sucking me dry as I lay there waiting for him to come back.
Anyway, I ended up not telling him at all. He seemed kind of quite when he left the room, perhaps I grunted the wrong response to one of his questions!
From Achmed and Me… Live Life!
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