Tell Me If This Hurts

Over the years, I've had a lot of dentists: ones who piped in music; others who showed videos of an aging James Taylor; and still others who had "new age" ceiling tiles that you could stare at while you were in the chair.

But as you're sitting captive in that chair--your thoughts free-ranging--you recognize that there is nothing quite like a visit to the dentist's office to put things in perspective. Here, then, are some of my more profound observations while sitting in "the chair":

Why is the receptionist so friendly? Is she in denial?


Why are the magazines all two years out of date? Who reads old women's magazines?

Who feeds the fish in the aquarium? Why do they even have an aquarium? What about an office cat or dog to pat to lower your blood pressure?

Why do they always ask you how you are after they put their instruments in your mouth? Do dental hygienists learn a special language to communicate with their patients? And, speaking of dental hygienists, how can a woman who probably weighs less than 110 pounds inflict such a world of pain?

Why do they say "tell me if this hurts" after your gums are already bleeding?

Why do you have to pay someone an exorbitant amount to inflict pain on you if you're not a masochist?

Why does the dentist look like the guy in Marathon Man?


I had one dentist whose Yellow Page ad read: "We cater to cowards." He got you to rate your fear on a scale of one to ten. I think I'm a ten. . .