Dental Damn-its

I had my six month dental checkup today. When I got there, the receptionist asked me why I was late. I said that I wasn't, I was five minutes early. The receptionist looked at me like "yeah, whatever" and then asked if I still lived on such-and-such street. I said I'd never lived on such-and-such street. She said, "Scott?" I said, "Yes." She replied, "Scott B*****". I said, "No."

"Oh!" You're not late.

So it was into the room for a cleaning, and the hygienist had me sign the little spot that said I'd had no toothiness issues for the last six months. Then she flipped the page and noted that it was time for my x-rays. I said, "Um...I think I had x-rays last time."

"You're probably thinking of the time before that."

"No. Last time."

"Scott B*****?"

I said, "No."

So, they packed me up and moved me across the hallway to another dental chair, presumably fishing out the 12-year old bottle of white out to fix the fact that I had attested to the dental health of habitual late boy Scott B*****.

A new hygienist came into the room and verified I was me. Then moved the overhead light to look in my mouth. At which point the light cover promptly fell off and slammed into my chest. The hygienist was horrified, although I was more embarrassed that as a newly-minted thirty-nine year old I seemed to have absolutely no reflexes whatsoever, and relieved that it hadn't smacked me in the face. I cracked a joke that if it had hit me in the mouth, I'd have been in exactly the right place, which got an uncomfortable forced laugh and more apologizing.

Otherwise, my teeth are all nice and clean, and I finished off the appointment by going for what's becoming a habitual post-dental burrito (although the hygienist warned me about eating tortilla chips right after my appointment, which was surprising as I hadn't told her where I was going, and they weren't even prophetic enough to get my name right).