Leatherface Dentist: A Students Tale
Thursday, October 30, 2008
I found myself lying face up staring at the ceiling as, what can only be described as, an electric hook descended onto my sore wisdom tooth (yes, I only have one).
It's official. I am scared of my dentist.
*
Today was the day of my dentist appointment. I woke up knowing full well that I hadn't flossed as much I was supposed too and that I'd drunk too much tea since my last appointment, but I still managed to have high hopes that my dentist or Captain Hook (as I like to call her) wouldn't claw my teeth out. I was wrong.
Now I wouldn't describe my dentist surgery as normal, it is anything but normal. Its a small semi-detached house in need of a dire update. Think: Bad colour scheme, out of date posters, a lot of leaflets and creaky floors. Already it is beginning to sound like the setting of a horror story.
I walked in and was greeted by the sound of a dental drill and the smell of tooth paste. My pulse quickened. The dentist surgery creeps me out. If there had been someone screaming in the surgery, I would have been out of that place so fast that you wouldn't even notice that I had been there. However I had to grin and bear it; there was no way I was going anywhere fast. All I could do was stare at the poster wall and await my impending doom.
Somehow I think my dentist misinterpreted that, "Please help yourself" sign you see on leaflet boxes. *Shudders*
Now I wouldn't describe my dentist surgery as normal, it is anything but normal. Its a small semi-detached house in need of a dire update. Think: Bad colour scheme, out of date posters, a lot of leaflets and creaky floors. Already it is beginning to sound like the setting of a horror story.
I walked in and was greeted by the sound of a dental drill and the smell of tooth paste. My pulse quickened. The dentist surgery creeps me out. If there had been someone screaming in the surgery, I would have been out of that place so fast that you wouldn't even notice that I had been there. However I had to grin and bear it; there was no way I was going anywhere fast. All I could do was stare at the poster wall and await my impending doom.
Somehow I think my dentist misinterpreted that, "Please help yourself" sign you see on leaflet boxes. *Shudders*After my mum had talked to the minion- I mean the receptionist we climbed up to the waiting room. The dentist surgery is on the bottom floor you see and the waiting room (aka Green Mile like cells) is upstairs. They make you clomp up these steep stairs, probably to tire you out so you don't try to escape.
I grimaced as I stared at more posters that covered the waiting room. My eyes stopped when I saw one next to the window, I was both amused and slightly scared. "DO NOT CLIMB - DANGER". I wondered how many (if any!) people had actually climbed onto the window ledge and what their reasons might have been; I shuddered at the thought and turned my attention back to "Cash in the Attic" that was playing on the tiny box TV. What a daft show.
It seemed like only a few minutes had passed before I was called for "The Chair".
The Chair was squeaky and too comfy as I reluctantly sat in it. I was given a bib of some sorts (maybe they thought I was going to drool) and a pair of not too trendy glasses. I sighed to myself, this was not a good look for me.
I soon found myself lying down and facing "Captain hook". She asked me how old I was, "17" I meekly replied. I knew she had a hatred towards teenagers, this knowledge didn't inspire confidence and as she shined a light into my mouth I said my prayers.
She used an electric hook to put in between my gums and poke them. It looked like a device I'd seen in a Texas Chainsaw massacre film; she would put ol'Leatherface to shame.
She put it on my wisdom tooth and pulled the gum off the top of it, I flinched and I swear I saw her smile. That or the hysteria was taking over. Water was flying everywhere out of this strange hook thing. It didn't help that her man servant was using a straw hoover like thing to suck all the moisture out of my mouth. I couldn't have drooled even if I wanted too.
After several brutal minutes and flinches/twitches later I was free to wash my mouth out and stare at the damage. My new nickname was: Bleeding Gums.
I was swiftly led out of the room only to be given a lecture about mouth cancer (its a standard thing) and that I should contact them if my wisdom tooth was giving me any trouble. However all I heard was, "Blah, blah blah, you may go, blah blah..."
I walked out of the dentist surgery and breathed in the sweet scent of freedom. Believe me, the smell of car fumes and cigarette ash is pretty sweet after you've been in there.
I grimaced as I stared at more posters that covered the waiting room. My eyes stopped when I saw one next to the window, I was both amused and slightly scared. "DO NOT CLIMB - DANGER". I wondered how many (if any!) people had actually climbed onto the window ledge and what their reasons might have been; I shuddered at the thought and turned my attention back to "Cash in the Attic" that was playing on the tiny box TV. What a daft show.
It seemed like only a few minutes had passed before I was called for "The Chair".
The Chair was squeaky and too comfy as I reluctantly sat in it. I was given a bib of some sorts (maybe they thought I was going to drool) and a pair of not too trendy glasses. I sighed to myself, this was not a good look for me.
I soon found myself lying down and facing "Captain hook". She asked me how old I was, "17" I meekly replied. I knew she had a hatred towards teenagers, this knowledge didn't inspire confidence and as she shined a light into my mouth I said my prayers.
She used an electric hook to put in between my gums and poke them. It looked like a device I'd seen in a Texas Chainsaw massacre film; she would put ol'Leatherface to shame.
She put it on my wisdom tooth and pulled the gum off the top of it, I flinched and I swear I saw her smile. That or the hysteria was taking over. Water was flying everywhere out of this strange hook thing. It didn't help that her man servant was using a straw hoover like thing to suck all the moisture out of my mouth. I couldn't have drooled even if I wanted too.
After several brutal minutes and flinches/twitches later I was free to wash my mouth out and stare at the damage. My new nickname was: Bleeding Gums.
I was swiftly led out of the room only to be given a lecture about mouth cancer (its a standard thing) and that I should contact them if my wisdom tooth was giving me any trouble. However all I heard was, "Blah, blah blah, you may go, blah blah..."
I walked out of the dentist surgery and breathed in the sweet scent of freedom. Believe me, the smell of car fumes and cigarette ash is pretty sweet after you've been in there.
Labels: a students tale, dentist trauma, personal
Another example of a well made personal layout would be 
Just in case you were wondering where I have been, I have one word for you. College. College has taken up most of my time recently, from typing my UCAS personal statement to the endless amounts of homework, revision and coursework. The only thing that has kept me going is the idea that all this will pay off when I hopefully get into University.
