I was late to the dentist this morning, a result of the popping, cracking, snarling, wicked jaw that I attempted to fix before my arrival. It is difficult enough sitting still while your teeth are scraped to high heaven; it is harder still if your jaw is locked firmly in place and will only let up if it could just have a little crack, come on, just a little, man!!
Anyway, I managed to somehow crack my jaw approx. 11 and 1/2 times and decided it was time to leave. It was 9:02 am by that point, and the appointment was scheduled for 9:15. It isn’t that far away, so I thought I’d make it on time, but I took a wrong turn (you would think I’d know how to get there by now) and thusly did not pull in the lot until 9:21 am.
“Be cool about fire safetyyy, be cool about fire saaafetyyy, be cool about fire safetyyyy.. boooooooks.. check ‘em out,” my phone crooned to me.
Who would be calling me? I looked at the screen. It was the dentist’s office.
“Hello, Andrea?” trilled Janice, the receptionist.
“Yes?”
“It’s Janice, from Dr. Yablonicky’s office!”
“..okay, I’m right outside.”
“Oh, okay! Good!”
Are you serious? ARE YOU SERIOUS? Janice is the nicest person in that entire office, and I am pretty sure she is old enough to be my mother, but REALLY. I am twenty-three years old, madame. I can tell time. Were they all really just sitting around, waiting for me? I decided The Guilt Trip was going to be my only ticket out of this.
Sure enough, I walked in to discover Ye Olde Sausage Fingers chatting away merrily to Janice and The Other Receptionist Whose Name I Do Not Know (TORWNIDNK for short.) This was unusual because while I have seen Lady Sausage talking to Janice and TORW..etc before, she has never been, shall we say.. “merry”. I figured it was a ploy and apologized for being late, explaining the jaw situation. I conveniently left out the part about how I whacked my jaw out of place to begin with — by flossing. I am not what you would call a Frequent Flosser; I prefer to wait until roughly a half-hour before an appointment, be it with dentist or orthomodonty-type people. It’s better that way. You get more chunks of food out, and feel like you’ve done something worthwhile, whereas I imagine people that floss all the time get bored and are like, “O! woe is my teef; I have naught to show for my efforte.”
Anyway, Sausage Fingers not only took my bait, but she was hook, line, and sympathetic! I couldn’t believe it!
“I really haven’t locked my jaw like that in awhile, so I was kind of surprised when it happened,” I told her as we walked to the exam room. This is true; it usually only happens if my mouth is open for a long period of time (at the dentist/ortho, people, not because I am a hobag slutwhore) and/or if my mouth is open very wide (again — dentist/ortho; my work on the streets is strictly on the D.L.).
“Well, if you feel any pressure or anything like that while I’m cleaning your teeth, just let me know and I’ll stop to give you a minute,” The Sausage One said. I nearly fell over. She was being nice, an emotion I did not think was in her range of feelings.
I sat in the chair and awaited the fires of Mount Doom. The radio playing in the ceiling started playing Barry White’s “Never Gonna Give You Up”, which was simultaneously creepy and hilarious as Sausage Fingers began scraping at my poor teethlings. I also made sure to tell her that the last time I’d been at the ortho, they’d accidentally jammed a wire in my gum. She said, “Well, that wasn’t very nice!”
It was seriously at that point that I thought perhaps Sausage Fingers was not as evil as I’d originally made her out to be. Maybe she didn’t really kick kittens when she went home at night. Maybe she actually liked her job, as opposed to liking making people bleed, which is what I’d been assuming all this time. Or maybe somebody finally prescribed her Prozac.
The cleaning was fairly uneventful, except for the fact that she again asked which bookstore I worked at, and whether or not it had a cafe, and if said cafe served food. I suppose she’s going there for lunch; thank goodness I’m off today. But as for the bookstore in which I work — is it really that hard to remember, people? And furthermore — what difference does it make? The only medical professional of mine I have actually seen at my store was my gynecologist, and she was looking at Paula Deen cookbooks, so she thankfully didn’t notice me. (It was still awkward. It’s like, “Oh, hello, I’ve seen your vagi — OHH, PAULA DEEN! I JUST LOVE THAT PAULA DEEN, Y’ALL! GIMME SOME BUTTER!”)
Actually, Sausage Fingers also strangely asked if we had any vacations planned for the winter. I told her no, but that we were actually taking a family cruise to Italy/France this summer. She kind of squealed a little, which reminded me that while she was not actually the Devil incarnate, she sounds a bit like a pig when she is excited. Of course. Of COURSE. Ah, S.F. You are too much.
She didn’t even finish flossing — possibly because I think she may have noticed I actually flossed, but more than likely because the spaces between some teeth are more or less non-existant at the moment and it is quite difficult to jam floss betwixt the brackets. I received my usual goodie bag — toothbrush, floss, special floss threaders for losers with braces, and this time a magical mouthwash sample packet thingamadoo. It isn’t the Legendary Magical Mouthwash I have wished for on many occasions — that shit’s prescription-only — but it’s some sort of oral antiseptic whatever that helps clean your mouth a bit better, especially when you have braces and thusly the million sores, ulcers, etc. that go along with them. AND I got the dentist himself to write me another prescription for this magical/kinda gross dental paste that has saved my life (well, mouth) on several occasions.
On the way out, Janice complimented my hair while scheduling my next appointment. She is the second person this week. Although since the first person was Crasian, I don’t know if that really counts. Anyway, I shall not see my Lady of Sausage until April, so hopefully she’ll be really happy that time as well from like, gorging on marshmallow bunnies and chocolate eggs. Or matzah. Whatever! I don’t discriminate!
So now I am home, and though my mouth is sore, my teeth are intact, and that’s all that really matters. Plus I got two nights of American Idol to catch up on.. I mean.. something that doesn’t end in a preposition.
