I'D RATHER BE AT THE DENTIST

So I'm sitting in the dentist chair while the hygienist has her way with my teeth and gums, furiously prodding and scraping away with those little pointy spatulas from hell. All I can do while I'm occupied, besides listening to her stomach growl, is stare at the ceiling: the ceiling tiles, the radio speaker emitting inoffensive softrock like "Jack and Diane", the screws holding in the radio speaker, the dentist's lamp manufacturer's name (MIDMARK). The whole time I'm wondering why they don't just put small LCD TVs up there to give the patients something to take their mind off the torture. It's not like the dentist doesn't make enough money, so what's the problem? I'm going to start calling dentists until I find one with ceiling-mounted monitors showing DirecTV.

Anyway, after about an hour of this the hygienist suddenly announces, "Left upper rear wisdom tooth, possible cavity!" Well, thanks sweetcheeks, but I think we'll wait for the BIG GUY WHO SIGNS YOUR CHECK to come in and confirm that. Sure enough the dentist didn't find anything, and he screamed at her, "You fool! I think you've earned a time out for that misdiagnosis!" and injected a huge dose of Novacaine into her neck. Soon after she slumped lifeless to the floor, the two of us were enjoying martinis in the lobby, chatting about the opera and the horrible traffic at Vail this time of year.

That's why the dentist's office is much better than work.