Just went to the dentist. Dr. Wang’s a nice lady, but it always drives me nuts when she tries to start a conversation with me while I’m sitting in the chair. This is a ritual we have practiced many times in the past few years. “So, what are some symptoms of the Sasser virus?” she says casually as she begins to work. I look at her and am about to answer, but then I *suddenly* realize I have a DENTAL PICK OF TERROR spinning around in my mouth at some really really high RPM and it is advisable that I keep my tongue out of its way. I try to grunt the first few syllables of “Well, actually, I’ve never witnessed the symptoms of the Sasser virus. I usually keep my machines pretty well patched with the latest Windows Critical Updates and anti-virus definitions from Symantec,” while my tongue deftly manuevers around the merciless steel in her grip. I almost choke on my own now-bloody spittle in the process. Silence.
She goes on for a while with her dental pick of terror before moving forward with the conversation. “I have a pretty new computer, but it’s getting slow. Do you think it’s a virus? Maybe it’s Sasser, huh?” I raise one eyebrow in puzzled helplessness, irresolute over what I should do. Maybe it’s supposed to help me relax. I try to make eye contact to convey the message, “You know, it’s funny, but I really don’t have a clue, seeing as how I’m sitting here with my mouth uncomfortably wide open as a gentle spray of microscopic raindrops keep falling on my head, but I’m sure I’d be happy to take a look at it as soon as our semiannual torture session ends. Hey, maybe we can exchange services and you don’t have to bill me. Haha.” None of that gets conveyed adequately through my strained growl, and I can feel my desperate gaze shifting into an impatient glare. Surely, she is mocking me.
She makes a few more attempts to get me to open up about my home life and plans for graduate school, but I am unmoved. I close my eyes, resolved to non-responsiveness, silently humming “I’m never gonna stop the rain by complainin’… because I’m free… nothin’s worryin’ me,” and pretending I’m nearly asleep. It works. She turns to her assistant, and they have a lively discussion about computer viruses and sound cards and how the Chinese encoding in emails always gets all screwed up… All very fascinating when you don’t have four different pointy, spinning, screaming, slurping utensils hanging out of your mouth.
Then she dropped the bomb: “Kenneth, I think you may be grinding your teeth in your sleep.” She hands me a mirror. “The facets of these two upper teeth perfectly match the angle of the canines on the bottom.”
Grunt. Doh.