Going to the dentist
I was at the dentist yesterday and it did not go well.
I’m anxious around dentists at the best of times, but since my abdominal surgery in August I still have some residual pain that can be greatly exacerbated when my body suddenly tenses up, like when a squirrel darts in front of me. And so, in preparation for my visit to the dentist, I took a few muscle relaxants that had been prescribed to me after the surgery.
My dental procedure went of without a hitch and I didn’t feel even a tremor of pain. Happy, I went off to the front desk to pay the bill.
The receptionist was brand new and seemed to have a very cheerful and outgoing personality, and so I tried to engage her in conversation. This is what followed:
Noticing the hockey magazine in my hand that had Maple Leaf’s captain Dion Phaneuf on the cover, the receptionist put her finger on his photograph and exclaimed, “Oh, Yeah!”
I took this to me she thought he was hot.
I said, “You want him, don’t you? I can see it your eyes. You want to have babies with him.”
I am not entirely sure where this came from, but can only imagine that the combination of muscle relaxants, (I took three) the wine I had a lunch and the Valium they gave me at the dentist’s made me unusually uninhibited.
The receptionist gave me a thin smile, “I’m more of a basketball fan. I used to live in Orlando and I would go to all the games, always dressing up and cheering for the Raptors whenever they came to town!”
“Ha!” I shouted, “ I bet everybody wondered who the crazy Asian fox was!” (It occurred to me later that the receptionist was not Asian. Maybe Latin.)
The receptionist, who was young and pretty, looked away and said, “ that will be $280 for today’s work, Mr. Murray.”
“You’re prettier and friendlier than the previous receptionist,” I continued, “ She was a mean Russian. Very frosty. I think she might have been ruined by the Chernobyl disaster. Do you ever dream about the disfigured Chernobyl babies? I do, but usually only under stressful times, like when I’m going to the dentist!”
And then I laughed, maybe a little too hard.
The receptionist pretended to be doing something important on the computer, “ Will you be paying with Visa?”
“You know it!” I shouted. “
She started swiping and typing.
“So, Orlando, would you say there are more black people there or white people?”
“I really don’t know Mr. Murray.”
“Are you on Facebook? It would be interesting for me to see if you had more black friends or white friends. I’m betting black, you being a basketball fan and all. Did you ever sleep with Shaquille O’Neal—apparently he screwed all the cheerleaders.”
The receptionist, now exasperated, shouted, “What is wrong with you?” and then she began to cry, and then I started to cry, too.
It was a little bit of a scene.
The dentist came out, calmed us both down, and then called Rachelle, who had to leave work early and come and pick me up.
Wasn’t humiliating at all.
