Do You Hear What I Hear?

Santa 0, Grinch 2
























I think I have bad orthodontist karma.
I don't know why, because we always pay the bill on time, we follow all the directions, even the oogy ones involving turning keys in appliances in the top of the mouth, little rubberbands, and the kid has good oral hygiene.

A couple of months ago, I brought you a really embarrassing story about how I snotted all over myself in the waiting room at Little Guy's appointment.

Even though it was just an unfortunate incident, I jumped at the chance to change to the 10am-ish appointment time slot, so I'd be less likely to run into someone who might remember me running out of the office with that mess dripping all over my hands and arms.

You'd think that I'd be pretty anonymous in a doctor's office, but no such luck.

In our small mountain town, the orthodontist only comes up here every other Friday. Every kid in town with braces fit their appointments in on those two days a month. We have to drive down into the city to the other office for the really big stuff. And people with particular time-slots seem to reschedule the same one every visit.

Last Friday was Little Guy's appointment. We got there in time, and the place was packed. They were running behind schedule. We finally got seats, and the kid was disgruntled about the delay. Seems he actually LIKES gym class and was mad about missing it.

We were wedged in at the end of a row, with a small end-table between us and the wall. I just sat back and took in the environment.

Anyway, the kid finally got called in, and I didn't feel like reading my book, so I sat looked around at everybody. On the table next to me, there was a large sign that read, "Due to the sensitive nature of some of our equipment, we respectfully ask that you turn off your cellphones." I looked around again. There was a sign like that on the reception desk, and on the two other end tables.

I checked mine. It was off.

There were 3 women yakking away on theirs.

So I sat there for about 10 minutes working my way into an anxiety attack. I could just imagine the orthodontist putting some pointy electric drill thing in my kid's mouth and having it take on a life of its own due to these inconsiderate asshats---shooting a 10-inch needle up through the roof of his mouth into his brain or something.

Ok, I'm weird that way.

One yakking woman seemed to have 6 kids with her---the oldest in the mid-teens. They were seated when we got there, so they obviously weren't the ortho patient. I started wondering...it's around 11am on a school day. Is this a field trip? Home school event?

The youngest in the group was around 3 or 4 years old. He actually had one of those plastic guns that shoots the darts with the suction cups on the end. Granted, he only had ONE dart, but what kind of freaking fool would let their kid run around a closed waiting room shooting darts at stuff?

The mother was obliviously caught up in her phone conversation, her older kids were totally disinterested (busy catching up on real-world culture by reading 3 months worth of Teen Beat magazines), and the receptionist kept giving them the hairy eyeball but was too wimpy to tell this woman to take control of her kid.

The kid with the gun shot his dart at the wall in the corner by my head. The dart bounced off the wall, and dropped down underneath the end table next to me.

There was a big decorative holiday basket filled with pine cones in front of the table, and the kid didn't have the age-appropriate knowledge that he could just MOVE the basket to get his dart, and I wasn't about to illuminate him. Relief at last!

I took my book out and started reading.

But then he started whimpering.

First it was just a snuffle. He went to his mother and snuffled at her. She ruffled his hair, and turned away so she could hear better in her cell phone. He went to each of his siblings, and they totally ignored him.

Then he came back and stood in front of me.

He ratcheted up the snuffle a bit. It turned into a whine. Then it became a wail.

All the people in the waiting room who had previously tuned this little cretin out started staring. I think only a couple of people actually witnessed the dart hitting-the-wall-and-dropping-under-the-table bit, and maybe they thought this little brat was mine. Or they thought I was torturing him in some way. Why didn't I take care of him and shut him up?

I looked helplessly toward his mother, who was still preoccupied with her conversation. His siblings were completely unconcerned with his existence.

So I moved the basket of pinecones and got down on my hands and knees to retrieve his toy .

And promptly ripped ass.

Not some delicate lady-like poof, but a big juicy rambling padambling phaducka.

If farts were visible, I probably would have had flames shooting 3 feet out of my butt.

I came out from under the table red-of-face, with the dart in my hand, and I noticed that the room was silent and all eyes were on me. Even the kid's neglectful mother had stopped yakking.

So I handed him the dart and said, "Be careful! You'll shoot your eye out, Kid!"

I wonder if the orthodontist has any openings in the 3 o'clock time-slot?