“Tone Deaf Dentist” By Chris Zito

The dentist’s chair is far from my favorite spot in the world. While this doesn’t exactly separate me from the rest of the  population I do pride myself in being able sit calmly, breathing regularly, and just go with the flow.

And by flow I mean the flow of blood from my gums.

Yesterday I went in for my check up and cleaning and everything was going along normally. The hygienist asked if there was anything in particular I wanted on the TV then leaned the chair back so all I could see was the ceiling. She made small talk that I mostly couldn’t respond to. She asks me if I’ve been flossing and I lied.

I floss about as often as this guy watched porn. That’s right.
The world will never know for sure.

It just doesn’t seem natural, all that pointy stuff in the mouth. How come I’m supposed to use soft bristles, but she gets to use stainless steel?

The “Plague Scraper 3000!”

The trouble started when the dentist came in for my exam. He stepped into the room and introduced himself. No “how are you todays” or “everything okays.” He looked at my teeth and occasionally remarked to the hygienist. My breathing sped up. I was no longer relaxed. He asked me a series of questions in a detached, TV detective manner.
“How often do you brush?”
“Twice a day.”
“Are you using a soft bristle?”
(Son of a bitch!!!) “Yes.”
“Are you flossing?”
He murmured something to the hygienist and was gone.

“Receding gums. We see it all the time, Ma’am.”

I’m not the bravest patient, but I am a patriot American. What’s the connection? As a proud American, I relish my choices. And I fired this guy before he was even out of the room.
“Nice meeting you too,” I called after him. The hygienist giggled. She was sweet and supportive and kind of cute.
But I’ll get my teeth scraped at one of the other 14,000 dentists in a 25 mile radius next time, thank you.

Thanks for reading. Tell you pals.
Chris Zito


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