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Dental Dam-nation, a Hygienists Dating Flossify

February 12, 2014

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I was at the dentist today, appointment aptly scheduled in the midst of the work day so I could have half the day off with a valid excuse, when I had an epiphany – are female dental hygienists lonely women?  Is it tough for them to find a date?  Let’s take a dive into the web of tangled thoughts that is my brain.

Of course, I have to specify “female” dental hygienists, because men can work in the same profession.  Just the same as there are female dentists and male nurses.  It’s 2014 people, lets not be stereotypical.

However I do imagine that these women could be in fact lonely to a certain degree.  First of all, they stare down into disgusting mouthes for a living, picking and scraping at misshapen teeth until their hands are covered in the blood of puffy red gums.  They continue to spray down the bacterial filled chasm with water, and slurp up the slew with a glorified, TRANSPARENT vacuum cleaner.  I mean seriously, I’d imagine once you experience this multiple times a day, you wouldn’t be able to look at any mouth the same ever again.

So how could they ever kiss someone on a date?  With the knowledge they have of what’s inside a mouth?  Who’d want to go near that?  Certainly no hygienist ever has gone out on a date with a client, but I imagine that there could also be reasons for a client to not want to go out with a hygienist.  Intimidation, mainly.  Confused?  Allow me to elaborate..

Here’s how my appointment went.  We began the first minutes of the disinfecting session with me biting her finger, hard enough to cause obvious pain yet miraculously without piercing her glove.  Talent.  Before she gets to carving into the lowest hole in my head, she asks what my plans were for the evening.  Staring down at the tray of torture utensils, I nervously blurt out “Netflix”.  Her eyes light up, as does the giant retractible light aimed right at my retina.

She continues to gouge at my wide open mouth with what feel like scalpels as she makes small talk about Netflix, asking me what shows I’ve seen and what movies to watch, as I secrete unrecognizable words coupled with drool at her.  Not allowing me to hold the vacuum myself to levy the buildup of saliva and tooth shavings in my mouth, I’m at the mercy of her own judgement of when I begin running low on oxygen since I’m now holding my breath in three minute intervals.

She must have gotten wise to my visual vitals at one point, because as I was convulsing from her literally hitting a nerve under my gum line she asked if I was still doing ok.  She must have seen my glasses fog up from the beads of sweat on my forehead.  I squealed out an immediate wide mouthed “uh huh” in affirmation.  Hey, I’m a man.

She pulled out a new tool at the end that she called a “sonic tooth cleaner” which was a glorified dremelling pick that she explained vibrated at extremely high frequencies and used the water gun to “keep it water cooled”.  Also, she mentioned not to worry about the high pitched drilling sound it emitted, and that it shouldn’t hurt but to keep her updated.  Ok first of all, Jesus Christ.  Secondly, I’m not sure that it hurt because all I could focus on was the screaming sound coming from the tool, which she’s convinced was coming from me.

At the end of the visit, after all the blood sweat and tears are soaked into perfectly square dental paper in the garbage, I’m discharged from her surgical chair with a new toothbrush and a pack of floss.  Somehow during our session, the once beautiful blonde hygienist had been replaced with a brutally sadistic woman with a twisted grin.  She tells me I can either floss daily, or we’ll go through that whole escapade again.  I of course didn’t ask for her phone number, because seriously…why.  I did however find out her next most coveted show to begin on Netflix.  Dexter.  I immediately left and flossed in my truck.

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