The "Bite Me" that Backfired.
Some of you know that I had a cracked tooth extracted and I am on track for an implant.
After wasting over a year dealing with the inept medical office of an oral surgeon, I asked my general dentist to send me elsewhere.
The referred specialist is a much better fit for me. His office functions like a synchronized swim team. He is confident and efficient.
The only thing that bothered me is his weird sense of humor. Every time my mouth was occupied with fingers and stainless steel instruments he would joke without mercy.
Just two weeks ago I was stretching my jaw as far as it would extend, when he started.
“Oh NO!” He gasped. “It’s not there! You've sucked it into your head!”
I rolled my eyes – which was a much more relaxed response then my first wide-eyed terror to one of his remarks.
My guess is that he is just a serial tease, so I always watched to see how the hygienist responded and then ignored him.
But I don’t forget. That’s why I decided to get him good at my last appointment.
I searched for and found my trusty old remote fart machine; a very entertaining and reliable practical joker.
I was well prepared when I arrived at the clinic last Wednesday - the final exam that would pronounce me ready for my dentist and the new tooth.
My plan was to place the speaker in the outside pocket of my purse and set it close to his stool. Then, when he bent over, I would press the control button. I even had a comment ready for the precise moment.
I checked in with the reception desk and waited patiently for the kill. My purse was loaded. The smile on my face was sly.
A woman and her daughter entered the building and immediately the Doctor met them and greeted them warmly at the hallway door. It was his family.
There was some kind of happy discussion ensuing when the best laid plans of mice and men went haywire. Something nearby must have matched my remote frequency.
“Phooooooooooot, baroooom, poot poot poot.”
The little electronic farter started rolling them out as fast as it could go and would not stop.
I thought I’d never get into my purse and find the off switch.
Picture me pulling my shoulders up sheepishly; accompanied by a half smile, half grimace.
“Uh… excuse me?”
Later, when I met him in the examining room he assured me that my implant looked great.
“Why don’t you come back once the tooth is in place so I can observe how the healed tissue reacts to the foreign material,” he said. “And, to see if you can get your little gadget working correctly.”
His grin widened, his eyes twinkled before he added, “Then I will bend over and say ‘This may cause some discomfort. Would you like a little gaaaaasssss?'”
Oh Yes. He got the last laugh.
(He’s lucky his fingers weren’t in my mouth. I would have bitten him.)