There are many scary places in this world, graveyards, haunted houses, MTV, my sock draw; and I believe that the dentist office ranks right up there with all of them.
Much has been said by comedians on the subject of dentists, and all of it warranted. But I believe a few more things could be added, and with Halloween fast approaching this seems to be an ideal moment to spend discussing just how scary a routine visit to your local dentist office can be.
It all starts with the music.
There is some music that seems to lend itself to being played in super markets and dentist's offices, and any music made in the 1980's seems to qualify.
You could have gone to the dentist in the 70's and they would have been playing 80's music.
As I settled into the chair on my last visit, the familiar sound of Hall and Oat's opus, Man Eater, wafted through the air and it just seemed right somehow.
After a few more 80's nuggets, (Jesse's Girl, Holiday, Sunglasses at Night) I casually asked my very friendly dental tech if she was an 80's music fan.
"Not especially" she replied.
I then had to ask "Did you choose this music?"
"Well, I typed "rock" into the music playing program on the computer and this is the mix it chose for me."
Aha! The computer was smart enough to know that this is a dentist office and it chose accordingly. (They are going to take over some day you know)
The next scary scene you encounter is that rack of sharp and pointy instruments located just to the side of the chair. They really should keep these things out of sight until you are properly anesthetized.
In fact, with the chair and the sharp tools and the motivational kitten posters, the whole scene takes on the air of an Inquisition torture chamber. Upon sitting down and seeing that rack of tools I immediately started confessing to heresy and practicing the dark arts.
And then came the scariest moment of all.
"Mr. Caldwell," the tech said, "you seem to have a little bit of gum recession (to which I replied "but I floss every week!") and we might have to send you to a periodontist to have some tissue grafts."
"Tissue grafts?" I said, hesitatingly.
"Yes, they can do it either with some of your own tissue or some from a cadaver."
"Cadaver?"
"Yes, from the harvested tissue of a donor."
"You mean from somebody who donated their body to science?"
"Yes, or an organ donor."
I can't help but think that this is perhaps not the place where this noble organ donor thought that he would end up.
Perhaps he thought that somehow his precious organs and tissue would have a place in curing cancer or other deadly diseases, not going to a guy who was a little slipshod in his flossing.
And, as I leaned back into my chair and considered the ramifications of having someone else as part of me for eternity, I had to wonder "I wonder if they need the whole body for that, or just the head."
After my surreal, scary hour in the chair was up I made my way to the front desk and was given one last fright.
They handed me the bill.
