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I went to the dentist’s office recently. I don’t like going to the dentist. You could say I hate going to the dentist. In fact, we will say I hate going to the dentist. I hate going to the dentist. I hate going to the dentist with a passion. I hate going to the dentist like large chunks of the American populous.

I also hate the fact that I’ve said “going to the dentist” repeatedly because it makes what I’m writing extremely repetitive, but the purpose of this piece is about going to the dentist and it will suffice.

The first thing that confronts me when I step out of the minivan is the door. Yes, a minivan, shut up about it. Normal door, got operating times and such like written on it, but to me it’s the dental equivalent of Dante’s Gate. Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrateand all that jazz. This is my last chance to leave. To just turn around and walk away. I can put this off till my teeth fall out and my gums leak blood whenever I look at them, but I won’t because I can’t afford how much that would undoubtedly cost me. I go inside.

I sit in a chair, next to a woman who intensely reminds me of a banana muffin. I look through their “magazines”, marveling in the fact that they would allow us, the untutored masses, to flip through these relics of a bygone age. Surely these should be sitting in a museum, allowing future generations to enjoy there breaking news announcements about the launch of Sputnik or the fall of the Berlin Wall! I take a Highlights, remembering them fondly from my childhood. In fact, I believe that it may be the same, exact magazine from my childhood.

For much time I sit, upon uncomfortable iron chairs forged in the dark regions of Asia by slave children, trying to ignore the enormous woman sitting next to me who smells disturbingly of turnips and OH GOD, IS THAT A THONG?

Finally, I am called forth. I wish for this to go quickly, to go in and out with a minimum of fuss and pain, but no, I must wait even longer, I must sit in the special dentist chair until the dentist is ready for me. WHY DID YOU CALL ME FORTH IF NOT FOR DENTAL PROCEDURES? Hurry up and wait is the policy? This is dentistry, not the army!

Eventually she comes. I sit, a timid rabbit, eyes sealed, mouth wide open. Why must they insert pointy bits of metal into my mouth, I ask you. WHY? There is no reason, they are diabolical individuals who indulge in blood sacrifice! THE BLOOD OF MY GUMS!

For time unknowable I lay in my world of frightened pain, as they prod, prod, PROD into my soft sensitive mouth! And they talk to me as they do so. Why do they do this, why do they speak to me knowing that I am incapable of answering because if I move even the slightest fraction of an inch they will stab me in my mouth and they will say in their reasonable voices please do not move sir, please do not move your mouth? CEASE YOUR PRATTLE! I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW WHERE YOU WENT TO COLLEGE, ABOUT THOSE CELTICS EH, WHERE LINCOLN WAS BORN, HOW LONG YOU HAVE COMMITED YOUR LIVES TO DENTISTRY AND GAURDING THE ENAMEL OF MILLIONS! I DO NOT CARE!

HYSTERICS!

It ends as it always does, with me seriously considering ripping that stabby mirror thing out of her hands and disemboweling the entire orthodontic staff in an orgy of bloodshed normally only seen in old eighties horror flicks while she grinds away at my teeth with some sort of drill. She makes me bite into some sort pink goop, telling me it tastes of delicious bubblegum. LIES AND DECEPTION! I must leave it in my mouth for an indefinite period of time, biting down, staring just beyond my dentist’s left ear. It is removed. I rinse and spit. I do it again. Once more. I rise. I cannot eat or drink for thirty minutes, but one more indignity heaped upon an already defeated man.

I leave, vowing never to return. At least until next year.

Poor Magello, you need a cookie for enduring that. In fact, here's the whole box. I will say though, you describe things in great detail. You make a great Author! If ever should you write a book and publish it, let me know and I shall read it, and tell my friends "I know this guy" whilst they laugh at me.

Will do!.....Wait are you planning on writing a book soon? O_o

I like going to the dentist.
Shocking, isn't it?
I have never had to have actual work done on my teeth, despite the fact my dental hygiene habits are somewhat lazy. The only bad thing I've ever experienced at the dentist was a kid who was waiting with me. He was annoying.
For a while we were worried I would have to get braces, because two of my front teeth were pretty crooked, but then we waited, and they kinda straightened themselves out. One is still a little tilted, but I'm the only one that really notices it.

As for the goop you had in your mouth, if it's anything like the stuff used to make a mold of your teeth for a mouth-guard, you have my sympathies. That stuff sucks.