By Jim Hagarty
2017
You might have to juggle three balls in the air at once to follow this, but I’ll try my best to make it easy for you.
Last week, I went to my dental office to pay a bill. While at the front counter, a dental hygienist in scrubs appeared and I called out to her. “Rebecca,” I yelled. She corrected me. Her name was Amanda. “You cleaned my teeth in January and told me to buy an electric toothbrush but I forgot what kind.” She very nicely gave me her recommendation, though she seemed a bit hesitant.
Back to the dentist for another cleaning I went today, and when the hygienist in scrubs came to the waiting room to get me, I said, “Hi Amanda,” very proud to have gotten the name right this time. “My name is Michelle,” she replied. I explained my previous visit and conversation with the phantom hygienist. “There is an Amanda here,” explained Michelle.
I dutifully reclined in the dentist’s chair and Michelle got to work. At times, the inside of my 66-year-old mouth looks like an abandoned warehouse, with windows broken and graffiti everywhere. I felt sorry for her but she soldiered on. She is a brave soul, I will give her that much.
I enjoyed Rebecca/Amanda/Michelle during our first encounter in January. We talked about our kids and she seemed to enjoy my sense of humour. Anyone who makes the mistake of laughing at something I say is just asking for it, so I like her but I have no sympathy for her. She would get what she deserved.
Suddenly, my smartphone went off, as someone had sent me a text message.
“Quack, quack, quack, quack,” went the phone, loudly repeating the alert sound I had chosen for texts.
“Sorry,” I said to RAM. “I’ve got a duck in my pocket.”
She seemed to like that so I was compelled to follow it up.
When she took a break, I continued, “Its name is Clarence.”
A few seconds later, four more quacks.
“It’s noon,” said my hygienist. “Is Clarence getting hungry?” I like people who humour me when I am humouring them.
However, the fun would come to an end when she found a broken tooth among the flotsam and jetsam inside my gob. She decided it needed to be fixed and I agreed. When the cleaning was done, I was ushered into another room and lay myself down on another reclining chair.
A dentist came in, asked how I was doing, and proceeded to inject some cement into the hole left by the broken tooth. Then he left. He was replaced by what I am assuming was a dental assistant who tightened a big clamp around the cement to form it up, sort of like two by fours holding a freshly poured sidewalk together. Meanwhile, another woman stuck a small vacuum in my mouth to suck up the fluids so the cement could set.
While all this was going on, Clarence started quacking again so I repeated the joke that I had told Rebecca/Amanda/Michelle. Not as much hilarity ensued as had broken out the first time I told it, but it was a six out of ten.
Finally done, I staggered up to the main counter to settle my bill and I asked the woman there, “Have you got anybody else who would like to take a whack at me?” When she said she didn’t, I said, “Surely there are two or three more people who would like to have a go.” But there weren’t.
Finally, Clarence and I went home.
We don’t get out much.
