Walking down that long, sterile (not to mention creepy) hall doesn't seem that bad compared to the waiting room. I've only been in that waiting room 30-40 times (sarcasm, people).
I've looked over the same peeling green window trim, the same dirty panes (which haven't been cleaned for well over half a year). So many flies have met their maker on those window sills that it became a habit for me to count how many had died since the last time I was there.
A little kid came from the dentist's office while I was on my way in. Poor dude. His eyes were as big as egg yolks. They even had the golden tinge.
"By jeepers," I stared in horror. "What have they done with him."
So, skipping forward in the story (---->notice how I left the previous paragraph at a suspenseful ending to get you interested to see what happens next), I slowly walked into the dentist's office.
The dentist is a fat guy with large glasses that made his eyes look twice as big and twice as scary. To top it off, he has a mustache which reminded me of one of those evil guys you see on movies who plot to gain more power.
He gave that grin that says,
"Come, sit down and let me torture you for half an hour."
The irony of that grin is that his teeth are yellow as the frozen corn you eat for dinner.
Last time I was here, I found out that the dentist (Mr. Blackwood) is a black belt. I didn't find that out the easy way. During the appointment, I resisted getting into the hot seat. One split second later, I was face flat on the floor with that mass of fat sitting on my back. Somehow he had twisted my arm and *POW* there I was.
When I told the story to my dad he said,
"You do know that Mr. Blackwood is a black belt, right?"
Wish that I had known that sooner. I'da brought a taser gun instead.
Now just imagine it. Me, standing alone in a room with a man whose name and belt matched the color of his soul. A man who claims to be a dentist and whose teeth needed more work than a half burned mansion.
I never took my eyes from him as I inched my way to the chair.
He "accidently" (note the quotation marks) tripped and pushed me into the chair. His friendly excuse was that I had tripped over his leg (which so happened to be between me and the chair), and was going to help me from falling when he "accidently" (note the quotation marks again) pushed me into the chair. How awwwfully nice of him.
At that point, I'da rather be one of those flies on the sill in the waiting room. At least they saw daylight when they died.
"Open wide." How do dentists manage to act so friendly with the hundreds of tortured patients weighing on their minds?
My memory went blank for a few hours. Heh, no, I didn't faint. I just--got a little lightheaded is all.
Okay, maybe I fainted.
Either way, I woke up in excruciating pain. But at least I wasn't in the office. Apparently, my brother had hauled me out of the office and into the car.
The moral of the story, kids, is to not fight the dentist when he's a black belt. If not, I'm not stopping ya.
(Based on a story told to me by a friend. Okay, if you must know, it was Trapper. My teeth are too perfect to need braces *licks a cavity*)
To finish it off right: