I had a dental appointment this morning. Nothing serious, just a bit of scraping, poking, and polishing. The bad part was they were caught short-handed, so I had to spend a lot of time waiting. I waited in the waiting room, where I read a pamphlet on childhood dental care from 1977 (I remember this same pamphlet in the waiting room of my childhood dentist). And I waited in the dentist's chair both before and during the action (such as it was).

The only thing I've ever looked forward to in a dentist's chair was the slim chance that one of the cuter hygienists would, during whatever arcane teeth abusing ritual she was performing, get me in a headlock and mash her boobs into the side of my head. It's happened before. Twice. It didn't happen today.

While I waited in the chair, I read the titles on the rows of pamphlets placed out of my reach. One title read, "Why your dentist is referring you to a _____" and the last word was blocked by a smaller pamphlet in front. I amused myself with possible candidates: mortician, auto-body shop, exorcist, veterinarian, stone mason, graduate student in the robotics department of M.I.T., etc.

In the end all of this costed me $70.