The Dentist Test

For me, escaping from the dentist without needing any restorative work is like studying minimally for a test and still somehow passing. Whenever this occurs, I sprint out of the office laughing like a super-villain.

Suckers! Don’t they know what I eat? Ha-ha! See you in six months!

Keeping with the test-taking metaphor, I always cram for dentist appointments. The morning of said appointment, I’ll brush my teeth extra well and make certain to floss exhaustively, as if doing so will make up for the six months prior of being less than diligent in those regards. Right before the appointment, I’ll brush my teeth a second time. I tell myself that it’s so I have fresh breath and won’t gross out the dentist, but I think that somewhere deep down inside of me I’m also hoping that it will impress the dentist enough that he’ll just give me free pass. (“Well, several of his teeth are fizzing like a volcano about to erupt, but he was nice enough to have fresh breath, so I think I’ll let it go.”)

What’s nerve-wracking for me is that I never learn my fate until the very end of the appointment. The hygienist first spends twenty minutes cleaning my teeth but never commenting on what she’s seeing. Obviously, it’s not her decision if any work will be needed, but I wouldn't mind if she gave a few hints, such as by saying, “Whoa! It looks like gophers have been making holes all over in here!” Then at least I’d be resigned to my fate and could give up hope early of escaping unscathed.

Eventually, just as my anxiety is reaching a peak, the dentist finally comes in and starts poking around in my mouth, at which time he also asks how I’m doing and if I have any vacations coming up. This is a standard dentist joke, I believe, and I never answer him.

As the dentist examines my mouth, he’ll make little noises such as “Hmm”, “Humm”, and “Uh-huh”, but they aren’t enough to give me a clue as to what my ultimate fate is going to be. Again, I’d prefer a blunter approach, such as if he said, “Sweet! This is really gonna help with the boat payments!”

Eventually, he’ll get sick of prodding around and lets me sit up. Then he’ll give me my final grade. If I miraculously pass and escape without the need for any follow-up appointments, I’ll leave the office not only laughing like a super-villain, but also feeling smug for having brushed my teeth twice that day, which was what obviously led to such a favorable outcome. If I fail, I’ll shuffle out dejectedly, promising myself that I'll do better next time, possibly by brushing my teeth three times on the day of my next appointment.