 It's the day you have a humongous zit on your nose that someone
wants to take your picture for the newspaper.It's the moment
after you dribbled spaghetti sauce on your blouse that you are
called upon to impress someone with your brilliance.
And, it never fails -- it's just after the dentist has you all
geared up for a root canal that you have to use the bathroom.
In my defense, the dentist had a picture of a waterfall tacked to
his ceiling! That's not playing fair!
At first I thought it was a beautiful picture. It was really nice
of the dentist to give his patients something to focus on other than
the needle he was pushing into their gums.
Rather than focusing on that metal clamp around my teeth, I
imagined smelling the wet moss in the picture.
When he draped a rubber washcloth over my face, I imagined the
mist of fresh water on my face.
When he tacked up a clothesline over my mouth, I imagined the
warm water running over my… uh, oh…
I really tried to ignore it, but my body was pretty insistent.
The dentist was in his "drill, fill and bill" zone with his files
and pokers, and he didn't notice that my Zen had been compromised. I
tried to look anywhere but the waterfall, but there are not too many
options when you are flat on your back.
I had a rubber block in my mouth similar to what they place under
747s to keep them from rolling. I had the rubber screen and
clothesline contraption that looked like a blue black hole taking up
the real estate on my face. An electronic meter was hanging from the
rim of my mouth. How was I going to get to the bathroom?
They must have some procedure for this sort of thing.
[to top of second column] |
 Finally I uttered, "Aye gaya hee!" which is "I gotta pee," in
Rubberdam, which is near Amsterdam, I think. Through a series of
grunting and some pretty creative sign language, the dentist
understood what I needed.
Although I was in panic mode, the dentist did not seem fazed at
all by the abrupt change in plans. Of course, this probably happens
a lot in his waterfall cubicle.
He unhooked the electronic meter and adjusted the clothesline
that was holding the rubber washcloth, so that if I bent over
slightly, I could peer over the edge of the structure to see where I
was going. Then he told me where the ladies' room was. Not
surprisingly, it was not, as I had hoped, just around the corner.
Immediately after I stood up, drool started running down my chin.
I traversed the labyrinth of halls holding my paper bib to my chin
to catch the runoff. The people in the halls stared at me with a
mixture of horror and humor. In my mind I damned them all to
perdition, but to be fair, I probably looked like a cross between
the Hunchback of Notre Dame and a Sleestak.
Finding the restroom, I wasted no time blockading myself in a
stall before anyone else saw me. As I was sitting, in the position,
drool dribbled into my underwear. Grabbing a wad of tissue, I was
suddenly unsure of where it was needed the most.
Back in the dentist's chair I closed my eyes and dreamed of
anything un-water-ish. I made a vow to bring a poster of the Sahara
Desert the next time I was scheduled for a root canal.
[By LAURA SNYDER]
Laura Snyder is a nationally syndicated columnist,
author and speaker. You can reach her at
lsnyder@lauraonlife.com
or visit www.lauraonlife.com
for more info.
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