Here's something I bet you've never heard before - I'm not a fan of the dentist.
Actually, my dentist isn't so bad. It's the hygienist that cleans my teeth before I see him that makes me crazy.
At the tiny office I go to, there are two regular hygienists to choose from. Hygienist A is quiet, sweet, and rips my mouth apart so my head hurts for three days after the appointment. Hygienist B is the most gentle being on the planet but not only does she expect me to carry on a conversation, she's an emotional basketcase.
Once, she literally stood over me sobbing while cleaning my teeth because her ex-husband was in the hospital dying. I offered to reschedule but she insisted she was fine. No, no she wasn't. At my last cleaning, she actually stopped mid-cleaning to answer her cellphone and argue dinner options with her daughter. We then had a riveting discussion about Steel Magnolias. For real. That Dolly Parton has talent!
Another time, I had a "substitute hygienist" for whatever reason. She's all "I'm gonna go around and poke on your gums and call out numbers based on yadda yadda whatever". I'm thinking "am I supposed to remember them for you? WTH is that about? Will there be a quiz?"
When she finishes with all her "7, 5, 6, 7, 5, 6, 6, 7" crap, I gave her the total.
me: I added them up for you.
me: Because I had no idea what you wanted me to do.
Weirdo: Nobody's ever done that before.
Like I was the one with the problem. I still have no idea what that was all about. Maybe it's weeks until my teeth fall out. Or her checking account number. Whatever.
Maybe next time I have an appointment there I'll take my iPod.