This week marked the beginning of the winter break, a much needed break from the ardors of school, and naturally, the kind and considerate woman that she is, my mother decided to choose the first day of the vacations to take me to my arch-nemesis - the dentist.
And so, Monday morning saw me waking up early (before 9 A.M), and hurrying around the house in a generally bad mood to reach across town in time for my appointment with the Devil. Despite the havoc and pain he and tools can inflict on a normal day, trust me when I say you're in for it if you keep him waiting.
10:05 AM. Five minutes late. Sitting outside in the abnormally clean waiting room, gagging on the strong smell of disinfectant, I buried my head into my hands and hoped it was the last time I had to come to this demon's lair. Beside me, there was another poor victim, a young boy with a wide clueless grin on his face. The boy looked happily up at the ceiling, the air of excitement about him just screaming out his absolute obliviousness to his plight. All right, I admit, I laughed under my breath - that poor kid has a lot of fun to go through.
Suddenly, he appeared at the doorway to his torture chamber, his horrifying white cape fluttering behind him in his wake. "I'm ready to see you now", he says, his ridiculously pearly white teeth gleaming monstrously at me, while the smaller, nastier version of his face on an ID card sneers at me from the top of his shirt pocket. I shudder involuntarily.
One thing about my monster of a dentist which I'll never be able to understand is his wry sense of humour. Maybe it's the soft piano orchestral music that emanates from the speakers in the roof while he unveils his electric saws, or maybe it's the sign above the 1000-watt mega spotlight he aims at my face: 'Smile please!', but something about it is unnerving. Usually, I just to try to focus on not focusing about it.
Inside, rows of metallic tools of unspeakable horror glint wickedly at me, and I avert my gaze to avoid staring at the center of the room, where the throne of pain lies, beneath a high-powered spotlight (which ensures that the Devil never fails to miss a squirm or wince on his victim's faces). Beside this monstrosity rests his chair, which very handily comes equipped with a cup holder, just like those on chairs in cinema halls. I wouldn't be surprised if he kept a cup of Coke there to slurp in delight while his victims gag and flail helplessly in front of him.
And so, he puts on a face mask to cover his satanic grin and dives into the task of finding just the wrong teeth to whack and locating just the more painful areas of my mouth to prod with something sharp. This time, to avoid having to blink blearily through the miniature sun that is his light, I closed my eyes, and tried to block out the sound of that incessant madman on the piano. Suddenly, the excavation in my mouth stops, and surprised, I open an eye to glare suspiciously at him. He's holding what appears to be a sharpened golf club in his hand, and his eyes are gleaming creepily.
'Are you praying?', he asks with a hint of amusement in his tone.
'No, of course not. Wait, should I be? What's that thing you have...?!"
His horns flash in the light as he dives back in.
And so, Monday morning saw me waking up early (before 9 A.M), and hurrying around the house in a generally bad mood to reach across town in time for my appointment with the Devil. Despite the havoc and pain he and tools can inflict on a normal day, trust me when I say you're in for it if you keep him waiting.
10:05 AM. Five minutes late. Sitting outside in the abnormally clean waiting room, gagging on the strong smell of disinfectant, I buried my head into my hands and hoped it was the last time I had to come to this demon's lair. Beside me, there was another poor victim, a young boy with a wide clueless grin on his face. The boy looked happily up at the ceiling, the air of excitement about him just screaming out his absolute obliviousness to his plight. All right, I admit, I laughed under my breath - that poor kid has a lot of fun to go through.
Suddenly, he appeared at the doorway to his torture chamber, his horrifying white cape fluttering behind him in his wake. "I'm ready to see you now", he says, his ridiculously pearly white teeth gleaming monstrously at me, while the smaller, nastier version of his face on an ID card sneers at me from the top of his shirt pocket. I shudder involuntarily.
One thing about my monster of a dentist which I'll never be able to understand is his wry sense of humour. Maybe it's the soft piano orchestral music that emanates from the speakers in the roof while he unveils his electric saws, or maybe it's the sign above the 1000-watt mega spotlight he aims at my face: 'Smile please!', but something about it is unnerving. Usually, I just to try to focus on not focusing about it.
Inside, rows of metallic tools of unspeakable horror glint wickedly at me, and I avert my gaze to avoid staring at the center of the room, where the throne of pain lies, beneath a high-powered spotlight (which ensures that the Devil never fails to miss a squirm or wince on his victim's faces). Beside this monstrosity rests his chair, which very handily comes equipped with a cup holder, just like those on chairs in cinema halls. I wouldn't be surprised if he kept a cup of Coke there to slurp in delight while his victims gag and flail helplessly in front of him.
And so, he puts on a face mask to cover his satanic grin and dives into the task of finding just the wrong teeth to whack and locating just the more painful areas of my mouth to prod with something sharp. This time, to avoid having to blink blearily through the miniature sun that is his light, I closed my eyes, and tried to block out the sound of that incessant madman on the piano. Suddenly, the excavation in my mouth stops, and surprised, I open an eye to glare suspiciously at him. He's holding what appears to be a sharpened golf club in his hand, and his eyes are gleaming creepily.
'Are you praying?', he asks with a hint of amusement in his tone.
'No, of course not. Wait, should I be? What's that thing you have...?!"
His horns flash in the light as he dives back in.
Somebody his dentist...
ReplyDelete