I feel as though my teeth are sharper because they’re cleaner. Can that be true? Or were they filed while I was strapped to the chair? With all the water being rushed, this scrapey thing, that pokey thing, everywhere the sound of something, screams and drills, usually… it was easy to lose track of what all went on.
There’s a TV monitor set up to display peaceful images (probably just a coincidence since it’s a screen saver to the computer behind the chair), but it was wasted on me, since the hygienist chose to perch in that spot to attack me.
I mean, it makes the most sense, take away the distraction so all I can see is the bright face light blinding me, though it’s not as if I can mount an assault while prone and having my face leaned on for support.
I tried to go peacefully, I even wore my hair out and frizzy to try and blend in, but my spectacular Hawaiian shirt gave me away. I forgot to “tone it down a little,” and that was my downfall.
I knew instantly they didn’t buy it, this deep hush fell over the office when I entered, Grandma in tow, thankful for the shot at peace at being away from her visiting son and his wife. That’s not true, I was early, there was no one at reception, but there was supposed to be. There was an embarrassed silence as I scribbled my name on the paper and cursed myself for not reading the directions. (“Arrival Time” is what it said, but I wrote my appointment time. How could I make such an error? Disgusting!)
A larger Lady (than me) scrambled to the desk and swiped the board and asked me shockingly personal questions that were already in the computer (address, phone numbers, “do you want e-mails and/or txt msg reminders?” “I already have that, thank you.”).
Then I guess she noticed my blunder on the sign-in because the doors swung closed, the shutters clamped, a meaningless gesture since there are iron bars on the windows, well, it got darker… Oh, maybe that’s why.
…and then the knives came out.
Mine, to be exact! I flung them wildly so as to not to really hit anyone and made a daring getaway, throwing Grandma at my would-be attackers. I say “would-be attackers” because they were too large to fit through the opening to come after me, though it was really only that one Lady still. I just want to seem tough, of course. I also say “throwing Grandma” because I picked her up like a tree and hurled her into the fray, knowing (as she’s whispered into my ear while I’m sleeping so many nights) that she wants to enter Valhalla by dying in battle.
But the front door was not an automatic door and inscribed with some odd language. I think I can recreate it with the help of ASCII-coding (a computer standard, you know):
I pushed and pushed against this door with all my might but it wouldn’t yield. Och! T’was like a great boggy mire that meh ship run agroond’n! Immovable, any effort’s reward further trouble.
Grandma had managed to set the place on fire (handy insta-torch in the ol’ purse, never leave home without it), but it was secured quickly enough because it also happened to be her nap time. Defeated, she sat down with the book she wanted to read in the first place.
Dodi the Valkyrie, notable: the bloodlust in the eyes, the stylish Boxer pin.
But, though I managed to shift the focus from my “Arrival Time” mistake, it was not forgotten. The door that acts as the bridge between the Waiting and the Damned screeched open and out poured the banshees.
Dark, horrible, shifty spectres all shrieking in the most horrible voices, gross figures causing the wind to rile up. But once these children were collected or seated, the glass stopped quivering and the ground ceased shaking, though the silence only amplified sounds of the grim work that lay in store.
The doorbridge clanked open, the portcullis dragged a forgotten skeleton as it shot downwards into rusty earth
…and then I met the horror that was to guide me to the Great Beyond.
It was the tiny Lady hygienist. If you’ve seen anything ever, then you know the smallest thing is the most powerful and I instantly regretted tossing my knives away harmlessly before. She was as short as a hygienist can be so as to still be seen (and thus paid), even her hair was cropped.*
* – She would later reveal while the drill was recharging that short hair was good because it required almost no maintenance (I’ve forgotten a time like that) and that meant more dentistry in a day. And it never got in the way during that same +extra dentistry. (Just as it was my turn to speak, or choke on my own screams, the drill was finished, “Let’s try the diamond-tip bit, ok?”)
Worse, since it’s not my first time at the dentist, (how do I keep ending up back there?), it also wasn’t the first time I’d meet this opponent. On this day, in this particular battlefield, I already heard her slay an old man with a smooch to his forehead; what could be her deranged machinations for me?
There were no introductions, no, none needed. I hung my head in shame and marched. I wasn’t even granted the honor of the loser’s parade through the dungeon, they gave me the room right up front there. “The spectacle!”
She cruelly asked “How are you doing today?” even though she knew, oh, she knew, that I was at the dentist.
My only revenge is that I denied her combat by surrendering meekly. That sort of insult can never be forgiven, no doubt insuring that she exerted herself thoroughly in the use of the scrapey-scrape, the pokey-poke, the floor-sander, and several cars.
Cars, not for their batteries, but just to drive over my face, my mouth if they could help it, for the love of crying out loud. (Plus, with cars, there’s a small percentage that some of them contain flamethrowers.)
At the end, everyone satisfied, I went up front to pay for the damages. Next, I’ll end up at @Kroger’s. What horror awaits me there? I’ll have to stroll casually to the ends of the earth before I get to the End-of-the-World-Kroger’s, …but isn’t that funny that it also happens to be the one down the street?