You might have to juggle three balls in the air at once to follow this, but I’ll try my best to make it easy for you.
Last week, I went to my dental office to pay a bill. While at the front counter, a dental hygienist in scrubs appeared and I called out to her. “Rebecca,” I yelled. She corrected me. Her name was Amanda. “You cleaned my teeth in January and told me to buy an electric toothbrush but I forgot what kind.” She very nicely gave me her recommendation, though she seemed a bit hesitant.
Back to the dentist for another cleaning I went today, and when the hygienist in scrubs came to the waiting room to get me, I said, “Hi Amanda,” very proud to have gotten the name right this time. “My name is Michelle,” she replied. I explained my previous visit and conversation with the phantom hygienist. “There is an Amanda here,” explained Michelle, helpfully.
I dutifully reclined in the dentist’s chair and Michelle got to work. At times, the inside of my 66-year-old mouth looks like an abandoned warehouse, with windows broken and graffiti everywhere. I felt sorry for her but she soldiered on. She is a brave soul, I will give her that much.
I enjoyed Rebecca/Amanda/Michelle during our first encounter in January. We talked about our kids and she seemed to enjoy my sense of humour. Anyone who makes the mistake of laughing at something I say is just asking for it, so I like her but I have no sympathy for her. She would get what she deserved.
Suddenly, my smartphone went off, as someone had sent me a text message.
“Quack, quack, quack, quack,” went the phone, loudly repeating the alert sound I had chosen for texts.
“Sorry,” I said to RAM. “I’ve got a duck in my pocket.”
She seemed to like that so I was compelled to follow it up. When she took a break, I continued, “Its name is Clarence.” A few seconds later, four more quacks.
“It’s noon,” said my multi-named hygienist. “Is Clarence getting hungry?” I like people who humour me when I am humouring them.
However, the fun would come to an end when she found a broken tooth among the flotsam and jetsam inside my gob. She decided it needed to be fixed and I agreed. When the cleaning was done, I was ushered into another room and lay myself down on another reclining chair.
A dentist came in, asked how I was doing, and proceeded to inject some cement into the hole left by the broken tooth. Then he left. He was replaced by what I am assuming was another dental assistant who tightened a big clamp around the cement to form it up, sort of like two-by-fours holding a freshly poured sidewalk together. Meanwhile, another woman stuck a small vacuum in my mouth to suck up the fluids so the cement could set.
While all this was going on, Clarence started quacking again so I repeated the joke that I had told Rebecca/Amanda/Michelle. Not as much hilarity ensued as had broken out the first time I told it, but it was a six out of ten.
Finally done, I staggered up to the main counter to settle my bill and I asked the woman there, “Have you got anybody else who would like to take a whack at me?” When she said she didn’t, I said, “Surely there are two or three more people who would like to have a go.” But there weren’t.
Finally, Clarence and I went home.
We don’t get out much.
©2017 Jim Hagarty
