You have a talent for causin' things pain Son. Be a dentist.

A few days ago, I took a trip to the dentist, and I realized something. No sane person enjoys going to the dentist.

Once a year, we pay someone to tell us the finer points of brushing our teeth, the importance of flossing, and if we're lucky, to fill in a few cavities. Why? I'm not quite sure. Of course we'd like our teeth to look presentable, but is it really necessary to have braces until every tooth is perfect, or to have our teeth polished with that terrifying little tool?

By far, the part of the dental visit that bothers me the most is dealing with the dental hygienist (who, by the way, does most of the work on your teeth). Without fail, when having my teeth scraped, the hygienist manages to shank my gum, or, on occasion, my lip.

The hygienist also gets to polish the teeth, using an instrument first created by the Nazis for torture, but later adapted into a tooth buffer by filling it with sand. This sand is even flavored, with such choices as Scalding Mint and Cough Medicine Cherry. When this tool is used, the grit builds up in one's mouth, usually on the tongue (intensifying the flavor!). To counteract this, the hygienist uses a small tube to suck every last drop of moisture out of your mouth, uses another tube to put a few drops of water in the mouth to try to rinse the sand out, and then uses the first again to dry the mouth more than before. But not all of the sand ends up on the tongue. Depending upon the individual hygienist's skill, one may be fortunate enough to get sand stuck in the lip, the nose, and if they're dealing with an expert, the eye.

After polishing, the hygienist has one last chance to revel in schadenfreude*: the fluoride rinse. You are given a cup full of a red or blue liquid that might as well be Socrates' poison hemlock. You are asked to drink half, but, unable to "mental measure," you usually end up taking about 3/4. You are then told to swish this for thirty seconds, but instead of letting you see the clock counting down until the end of suffering, it is hidden from your view, making the burn feel eternal. When you take the other "half," there is so little liquid that it's hard to even swish it, so you fake it to keep from having your dental hygiene further critiqued.

After all this, the dentist comes in, looks at your teeth for about two minutes, and if no cavities, you're home free. I thought he was the one with all the years of schooling!

While it doesn't take extra years of schooling to become a hygienist (University of Phoenix now has a program), it does take a certain personality. One important component is enjoying having long conversations with yourself. When the patient's mouth is filled with tools, hands, or a combination of the two, they can't respond to your questions, but there's no need to end the "conversation!" Although talking to yourself may qualify you to work at a dentist's office, even more important is being at least slightly sadistic. Little Shop of Horrors was not far off with the character of Orin Scrivello, DDS. Watching people squirm is part of the job description.

This won't hurt a bit...



*taking pleasure in other people's pain (yes, the German's have a word for it)