I never thought I could be entertained by a dental appointment. Is my phobia, inherited from my mother, losing its grip? The hour started off when a young woman arrived in the waiting room with three little kids, two boys and a girl. The youngest, a boy of about two, couldn't talk yet, so he yelled for at least fifteen minutes, happy and smiling, climbing all over the chairs and tables. I hope none of them had chickenpox; I've had my bout with shingles.
Anyway, my dentist is like a little puppy-dog, and you have to smile when you see him. He acts so shy and hesitant, as if you might be offended by his enthusiasm about updating your mouth, but really opens up and makes speeches when you show a little interest. Talks about dentistry being an art, while he shows you before-and-after pictures. And all the assistants are taught to smile and smile, especially your technician who doesn't talk any language you understand.
All their computers crashed before any real work could be done. They said they were probably going to close the office early, so I came home, amused and happy. "Happy" in the comparative sense.
*
I'm sure the technician speaks English, but her voice is about the same pitch and volume as my head-noises. So my responses consisted of "huh?" "what?" and "pardon me?"
1 comment:
He sounds just like my dentist, whom I adore.
Post a Comment