Top 10 Dental Do's and Don'ts

*Disclaimer: This post is directed to the morons of the world. Not my lovely and respectful readers :)

1. Never EVER grab your hygienist's hand as he or she is working in your mouth. Let me tell you why.

a) Remember...you're not the one holding sharp instruments. And I'll bet if you tick your hygienist off, he or she could "accidentally" end up nicking your lips, teeth, cheek or tongue--or worse, all of the above (not really...well, OK. Maybe). Don't push us, people! We're uptight enough as it is!

b) It's flat out rude. You might as well say, "I don't believe you're doing a competent job, so I'm going to take it from here. Your years of training and knowledge mean nothing to me." Seriously, forget the gritty water in your mouth. You will NOT die if you can't have it suctioned immediately. Trust me. Your hygienist is working on getting your mouth cleared of every single speck of grit, got it?

c) It's just demeaning and unnecessary. Period. I had a patient grab my wrist today and yank it to her mouth. My gut reaction(s) was to scream, cry, and gasp all at the same time. I can't explain it. It's just how you feel when some one unexpectedly and forcefully grabs you. She's lucky I didn't sock her.

2. Swallow your spit. You will not die if you swallow a smidgen of the saliva that pools in your mouth as we are cleaning your teeth. You swallow roughly 2 liters of the stuff ever day. Just because you're lying back in a dental chair does not automatically mean your brain to gullet mechanism is severed and that you need our assistance in helping you rid yourself of your own body fluids. We do all we can to make you comfortable, but we are not going to swallow the junk for you. Oh, and none of this pointing frantically to your mouth with a look of utter disgust on your face. We're gettin' there. I assure you, we are well on our way with "Mr. Thirsty Straw." Give us .5 seconds. Puh-leeze.

3. When we take your blood pressure, don't say things like, "Oh, well it's never been that high. It's your cuff. It must be broken. Those things are never very accurate." I assure you. It is not the cuff. It is you. It is your blood pressure. We are trying to do you a service by screening you from a potential silent death. Throw us a bone and at least pretend to be concerned.

4. Stay wide open. Try as best as you can to stay open wide. The mouth is the world's tiniest cave with lots of nooks and crannies to navigate. The wider your mouth stays open, the more we are able to see, the less pain we are likely to inflict, no? And resist the temptation to move your lips around while you're being rinsed, as well. If we need you to move any part of your mouth, we'll tell you so.

5. Although well-intentioned, try not to assist us in our efforts to floss your teeth by pushing your lips around. Truth be told, the tongue and lips can be very strong. After all, they are made up of muscles (creepy and a little weird). But we know what we're doing when it comes to flossing your teeth. If you're trying to help us out by pushing the floss out, it ends up being a battle for us to get it to where it needs to go. Just play dead. That is the best way.

6. This is a biggie: Don't look at us in the eyes when we're cleaning your teeth. This sounds like common sense, but you would not BELIEVE the amount of time I spend avoiding people's soul-searching stares. Ew. Please. I'm begging you, avoid eye contact when we're inches from your mouth.

7. For the love of heaven, brush and floss before you come to your appointment. Yes, floss. As in the white stringy stuff you stick between your teeth?!

8. When we say, "Turn toward me" or "Turn away from me" we mean "Turn toward me" and "Turn away from me." Not "Turn 1/32 inch toward me" or "Turn 1/32 inch away from me." Don't be shy. Turn that head of yours! All 14 lbs. of it. A good rule of thumb? When the hygienist says, "Turn toward me," make like you're going to lie on your ear that is closest to him or her and then tilt your chin up in the air. And as always, open wide.

9. Three words: Please & Thank You

10. Be honest. Your swollen, bleeding gums is a dead giveaway to the fact that you're not flossing. Don't insult me by telling me you are, in fact, flossing. In doing so you are forcing me to tiptoe around the fact that I don't believe you. Capeesh? (Thank you, Uncle Jesse).

Love,

Your Friendly (But Slightly Peeved) Dental Hygienist

Now. Who wants me to clean their teeth? Ha. Ha. I'm betting I'm not going to get many takers...Until next time ;)

Quote of the Day

Patient: "Are we almost done?"
Me: "Yes. We are almost done." But what I REALLY wanted to say was this: "Yes. We are almost done, but you can't be seriously asking me that as a 26-year-old operating room technician and grown woman. You assist surgeons through hours and hours of surgeries at the hospital (many of them probably very goopy and gorey operations, no less) and you are seriously going to throw the "Are we almost done?" line at me? Sheesh. Lady, you're making me lose my gusto for my job, for dentistry, for life. I feel myself caving in to the low expectations I refused to have for people--at least up until now. I have concluded that the lower my expections are for my fellow man and/or woman, the better off I am. You just aren't disappointed as easily, no? Expected the unexpected, I say! But what really sealed the deal and made me want to use my shoe to boot her bum out of my chair is when she said this:
Patient: "If you can't tell, I hate the dentist. It makes me nauseous."
Me: "Yeah. I get that a lot." And then I thought about the four hour "blood clot" surgery she assisted with. To each his (or her) own. Until next time...;)

Ticket to Ride

The following is a "ticket" my mom received after parking at Green Bluff this past weekend (a very busy, and very crowded venue with little to no parking). Mind you, this is not a real ticket left by a legitimate authority figure. No, no. This ticket was left by some moron who felt that my mom had parked inappropriately (she wasn't, she took pictures with her cell phone and we all agreed she commited no parking crime). What really amazes me is that someone out there in the universe took the time and thought to draft this thing up, and has the nerve to leave it whenever, wherever he/she feels like it. They carry these things around with them! Then again, I am taking the time to blog about it. So, the question is, who is the one that needs to get a life? Don't answer that...Anywho, enjoy the verbage of this unbelievable gesture captured in paper form. It pretty much speaks for itself--loud and clear, no less:

Rectifying Birds

They tried to warn me. At the staff meeting this morning. Yup. They tried. About what, you ask? Oh, that my ten o' clock patient was a real doozy. I believe the exact word used was: "Crotchety." Awesome. Those crotchety people are my absolute fave. In fact, I prefer them. NOT. I used to fret and stew over difficult patients--you know, the ones with a reputation in the dental office. The ones that only require a mere mention of their name and the whole office shudders and then gives a collective, unspoken nod of understanding. I would anxiously watch the clock until the dreaded hour came when I would have to see Mrs. Stuck Up or Mr. Jerkypants. It was like a ticking time bomb. Dread. Absolute dread. I've now learned that there is nothing I can do from stopping these people from coming through that front door and into my operatory. It's like Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds." They'll find you--anywhere. And when they do, they pick and peck apart your sanity. It. Is. Painful. Today, he found me. And I'd even been warned.

I brought said "doozy, crotchety" patient back to review his medical history in a separate consultation room. First, he told me I had the wrong patient pulled up on the screen. Hmm. I doubt that there is another patient by your first and last name, sir. What? Is there another patient in this office who just happens to be taking the EXACT list of medications you claim to take? Does that patient miraculously have the same birthday and physical ailments you do, too, including (but not limited to): an appendectomy at the age of 14, a hernia, glaucoma, high blood pressure, hives/rash, gout, arthritis, and difficulty breathing, sir? I sincerely doubt it. I really do. But, if so, then that would be a freakin' miracle, wouldn't it, sir? So, let me just pretend to check to make sure I have the right "John Doe" when I am 110% positive that I do. You know how I know this? Because I'm not an invalid.
It gets better. Mid-sentence he interrupts me and as if I have earmuffs on he yells: "I'M HERE FOR A CLEANING."

I paused. I blinked. I looked him in the eye. And then I punched him in the face. OK. I didn't do that. But you better believe my fist thought about it real hard. Nothing would have given me more satisfaction than to have knocked number 9 from his maxilla (the only front tooth left dangling--and I do mean"dangling"). But instead of throwing down, I smiled, warmly (emphasis added), and simply stated, "Right. That's what we have you down for" (&*%^$@).

After we made it through our FIRST 3 MINUTES of the appointment, I escorted him back to my operatory, or as I like to call it, The Serenity Room. That's a story for another day and time, but let's just say there is a giant picture of a beautiful island oasis and I pretend I am there with Edward Cullen (I mean, my sweet Jason) most days instead of scraping "sugar bugs" and sucking spit from people's rotten teeth. As I was pathetically attempting (and failing) to make conversation with my favorite patient in the whole wide world, he looks at me, and again, spits out another interruption: "You talk too fast."

Again. The trembling fist. I jammed it into my pocket. I've worked TOO hard to lose my license now! He will NOT take this from me!

Me: "Yeah. And I mumble, too. My husband tells me all the time."

And here it is, the line of the day, quote of the year, word of my lifetime. You ready?

Mr. Crotchety: "You need to rectify that problem."

More blinking. And then do you know what I did? I laughed. Out loud. I laughed for two reasons: 1) Because I haven't heard the word "Rectify" for at least 2 years and had forgotten completely that it existed and 2) because that's what people do when they are in shock. Their comprehension drains from their head to their toes and then sputters out in the form of laughter. Un-freakin-believable. My response?

"Oh. Right. I'll add that to my list of things I need to do to improve myself. There's just SO many."

Does it go without mention that he had one of the nastiest mouths I've ever seen? That he doesn't floss and brushes maybe once a day? Do I really need to tell you that he acted shocked when I told him his teeth were loose and that they were going to fall out of his head? And that I literally had to hold them stable with my fingertip while I scaled them? Does it? Well. Now you know.

After he left, my front office manager came back to talk to me. I thought, "Oh, no. Here it comes. I'm going to get it." But do you know what she said to me: "YOU, young lady, have a huge fan!"

What?! NOOOO! I NEVER want to see him again! Ever (that's why I scheduled him with the other hygienist who happens to be in Hawaii for his next cleaning. You snooze, you lose!). That's right. Mr. Crotchety wants to see me next time. What have I done? I should have punched him. I should have! But like I said earlier, he would have found me anyway. I'm a magnet for those kind of people. It's the Lord trying to teach me patience and me just not getting it. Or blatantly refusing to. Birds. They're everywhere. I'm going for the right hook next time. It's my only defense.

Illiterate

My cousin, Brad, took this picture with his cell phone. It's not great quality. But this is what it says: "Non-Fiction Picture Books." Hmmm. I had no idea that "Where the Wild Things Are" and Dr. Seuss is now considered non-fiction. I guess you learn something new every day!

Dead Head

Quote of the day: "Are you going to get my WHOLE head numb?!!!!!!"

(If it means you'll shut up, then the answer is a big fat "yes").

I Forgot That I Was the Stupidest Person in the World

I've decided that old people (like really old people) are either the best thing in the world or the worst thing in the world. There is no middle ground with them. No gray area. They either exist to melt your heart or make your life completely miserable. Today, I dabbled in misery. An 88-year-old patient told me the following:

"You couldn't possibly understand."

*"You have that thing set up wrong" (in relation to my ultrasonic scaler). Me and my five years of university education are not even going to go there. After all, monkeys could scrape teeth, right?

*"I don't have time for xrays. That's just one more thing to tack on to my schedule." Because 88-year-old men who require rides to and from their dental appointments have SO much to do during the course of the day.

*"You be nice to your Grandfather. When you call him, don't talk to him too long. You'll bore him." I am NOT making this up!

*"I don't want a lecture about any of that stuff" after I simply asked him when he would like us to reschedule him for his next recare appointment.

*"I've been eating a lot of beets, and carrots, and beans." Hmmm. I hadn't noticed. Gag.

Oh, and don't even worry about the fact that I sucked up not one but TWO of his snot rockets with my high vac suction. I'd rant and rave about it all if it weren't for the fact that it is so darn sad. It is what it is. Oh, and I never want to be that old. Ever. But if I am, I want to be a "melt your heart" kind of old person. Until next time...;)

Warm Fuzzies

One of advantage of my job? I come in contact with eight or more complete strangers on a daily basis and get to freely pass judgment about them in my head. Sound harsh? Well, you can judge me then. Because c'mon! We all do it. And it's better than passing judgment out loud because that would cause all sorts of problems for my employer. Let's be real, the longer I work in my field, the less apologetic I get about the opinions I form of crazy people I encounter and their nasty mouths. Their wacky behavior shouldn't be something else I have to worry about, at least, that wasn't in the job description when I pictured myself running around in matching scrubs and my hair in an up-do six and a half years ago when I began this journey as a dental hygienist. There are countless times over the course of the work day when I am utterly flabbergasted by something someone does or says. And only one word comes to my mind each and every time over and over and over again: Why.

For example, it always blows me away when patients ask for recommendations regarding how to improve the health of their mouth. I am overly eager to open that little compartment in my brain labeled "Dental Hygiene" and share my wealth of knowledge. I did pay a good chunk of change to learn what I now know. And that little compartment in my head just about busts at the seams and screams "Open me! Share me!" And so when a patient actually expresses interest, my response is often one that is excited. Yes! Yes, Mrs. Jones! Let me tell you what you can do to reverse your gingivitis! I would love to do that for you, Mrs. Jones!

And then I proceed to recommend a Sonicare toothbrush to Mrs. Jones, because, after all, her two daughters have one. Surely they wouldn't mind their mother purchasing her own toothbrush head to snap on to the body of their brush and have at it all in the name of good oral hygiene. But do you know what Mrs. Jones does with my recommendation? I'll tell you what she does. She basically tells me to "Shove it" when she says: "Oh, well. The girls keep the Sonicare in a different bathroom downstairs so I can't use it."

Hey, Mrs. Jones. Seriously, why don't you take your right hand and give me a good whack in the nose. I'd prefer an actual slap in the face to your whipping with words. Because I don't understand you. Are you truthfully and honestly telling me as an adult woman with two children that you are incapable of walking down a flight of stairs to save you the expense of purchasing another Sonicare toothbrush and possibly hundreds of dollars of dental work in the form of non-surgical periodontal therapy and future osseous surgeries? Are you that dense? I'm thinking that you are because you JUST ASKED ME WHAT YOU COULD DO TO REVERSE YOUR GUM DISEASE AND I TOLD YOU SO WHY ARE YOU NOT LISTENING TO ME?! *Side note: You can't reverse all kinds of gum disease, but that's another subject for another day and time. Do you think I like to hear myself talk? (Don't answer that husband of mine). Good heavens, woman! You making me crazy!

And then I go home. Home. A place where you can relax and eat and laugh and rest and enjoy things that are normal. And I flip on the tube and this is what I find.

All kinds of crazy up in here! A Santa Snuggie? Really QVC? It hurts my heart that you thought this was a good idea because every time your pretty lil' models do a twirl in that hideous thing, I mistake it for the ugliest moo moo I've ever seen in my entire life. But then it trips me out because I think it really is Santa for a split second and I wonder if my mom and dad really didn't tell me the truth about him after all, but then the pitch woman completes her twirl and I am back to where I started where I see a young attractive female and not some 300-pound man with a round belly and white beard. It's just. plain. wrong. Also, that thing looked like it would fit Santa six times over. So is our country now promoting obesity in our make-believe characters, too? If so, this is no longer an epidemic but more along the scale of a pandemic now that it has reached the scope of the North Pole. And we should be seriously concerned. And I'm sorry, but people who call into QVC to commentate on Santa Snuggies have reached on all-time low in their life. Period. Jason and I did get a good laugh out of the whole experience, though. You know the kind that makes your soul feel better? Those are the best. I guess there is a need for crazy in this world after all. Until next time...;)

The Impatient Patient

My first patient this morning went a little like this (no, a lot like this):

Me: "Good morning, Mrs. Doe (don't worry, not her real name--no HIPAA violations here). Thanks for coming in bright and early to see us. We're going to start out with a panelipse xray this morning."

I then proceeded to escort Mrs. Doe to the pano room (this is the xray that goes around your head).

Me: "OK. I'm going to need you to remove your glasses and earrings."

Mrs. Doe: "ALL of them?!"

Me: "Yes. All four of your earrings (two in each ear) and your single pair of glasses." Of course, I did not say this out loud. I should probably make every effort possible to keep my job. But, boy, did I think it! And then I let myself carry on a pretend conversation in my head just for kicks and because it made me feel better about myself. It went like this:

Mrs. Doe (or shall I refer to you as Mrs. Don't),

Clearly you must have known some things were going to be required of you at this dental appointment (i.e. opening your mouth, carrying on a conversation or two, sitting still while I "clean" your teeth). Surely you removing four itty-bitty earring posts and a pair of glasses can not be THAT much of an inconvenience to you. I promise I'm not trying to swipe your gross earrings and granny glasses. I will give them back. And if I don't, then you can pitch a fit about me making you take them out. Now, just hand over the goods before this turns ugly (Yeah, right. I'm a lot of talk).

Some people. I swear. Why can't they just be perfect like me? (Sarcasm--and lots of it). Until next time...;)

Dear American Teenager,

Your fashion trends are becoming absurd. I came across these today at the mall:

...and then I wanted to throw up. Has "fashion" really stooped to this level? Seriously? Has it? By far, these are the most hideous things I have ever seen, and this particular store was marketing these things as "shoes," as in for people to actually wear on their feet. They are a cross between a full gold crown, elf slippers, and oompa-loompa garb. Gross. Really, really gross. And sorry if you, the reader, have these so-called shoes. I never meant to step on anyone's "toes." Or did I? I did. Because no one should own these. Except for maybe the mayor of Whoville. And I mean that. Until next time...;)

You're Not Funny

I was at work today. Because that's what adults do (or so I'm told). I was working on a gentleman who was not so gentle at all, or rather, his words weren't gentle. He kept saying every two minutes"Are we done yet?" like it was the funniest and most clever thing he's ever heard. And like it was cute. Hey, hot shot. It's not cute. It isn't. It bothers me. Because I have a job to do. Because you don't understand what it's like to have to do something that majority of the general public has come to dread. Because you've already made it clear by your complete lack of dental hygiene that taking care of your teeth is not something you put very high on your Priority List in life. And answer me this, of the two of us in this room, do you honestly believe you're the one that wishes "we were done?" No. I am the one that desperately wishes "we were done" so that I wouldn't have to clean out that 8 mm pocket on the distal of 30 that's packed full of pus and last night's dinner. Got it? So, how about you zip it and let me do my job so I can stop courtesy laughing at your ridiculous and unoriginal "joke." Bless your heart.

And speaking of food, what is it with people thinking it's OK to come to the dentist with a mouth jammed full of their last meal? I mean, c'mon! I went to clean a lady's teeth today, and as I am looking around in her mouth, I noticed these orange, fleshy things caught between her teeth--all of them.

Me: Did you have cantaloupe before you came to your appointment today?

Patient: Oh. No. I had a carrot and some orange juice after I brushed my teeth.

Oh. OK. Wait. No. Really? You picked the two things out of thousands of foods that are infamous for getting stuck between teeth and you eat them AFTER you brush your teeth before coming to the dentist? Stringy carrots and orange pulp. Seriously. What a genius. Hey, I have an idea lady. I think we have some chicken in the break room. I'll just go stick it in a blender and let you mash on that for awhile so that I can pick it out from between your teeth, too. Sound like fun? This same patient went on to ask me about "grills" and how much they cost. Lady. No offense, but you do not fit the demographic description for a "grill." Case closed. Period. The end. So, don't even worry about it.

My sister-in-law texted me the other day. She lives in Boise. Her text said this: "Rachel. I just went into the public bathroom at work and a lady was in the stall talking on her phone! I immediately thought of you." I really hope Ashley thought of me because of my blog, and not because she grouped me among people like Bathroom-Stall-Chatty-Cathy? No, no. I'm pretty sure it was because of my blog. Right, Ash? Ash? I asked her if the lady at least washed her hands. But Ashley didn't stick around to find out. Good call, Ash. I wouldn't have, either. And you contacted the right authorities: Me.

Until next time...;)

Accolades--D.C. Style

This post is dedicated to The Rosenbaum and Nichols' families:

My husband and I recently returned home from a trip to the east coast. We spent the week in and around the Washington D.C. area. It was great. It really was. But, may I just say that prior to our adventure I was convinced that most of the world's "crazies" were packed into the upper left hand corner of the United States (i.e. Washington State). WRONG. Dead wrong. There are plenty of obnoxious people residing on the opposite side of the good ol' U.S. of A. Like I've always speculated, idiocy is a pandemic! Let me elaborate (because you know I'm gonna):

1) This is crazy man number one. We encountered him on our very first ride on the Metro system into The "District." That's right, a bunch of white, sheltered west coasters riding a big subway for the first time and this guy shows up. I spent majority of the trip looking straight ahead as to not draw any attention to myself (or my family). I wasn't convinced that he wasn't hiding a pistol in that Mickey Mouse Fantasia-style warlock cap. Oh, his sign? He was protesting the border scandal that is currently causing all sorts of chaos in Arizona. Although, we couldn't be sure because he had "border" spelled as "boarder." So, he could be protesting the skating industry for all I know. Makes more sense with his clothes and all. Personally, if I had my own protesting sign, it would be arguing his fashion crimes: white socks with "man-dals," Joe Boxer smiley faces underpants worn OVER shorts, and his tie dyed t-shirt. Also, that may or may not be a Cabbage Patch doll head or a mop hanging over the top of his sign. We never could decide (remember, we were too busy pretending not to stare).

2) My sister-in-law and I counted not one, but two, women wearing at least 4 inch heels as they were touring the sights and sounds of our nation's capitol. Incredible. There they were, hobbling along, clearly in pain as their strappy stilletos dug deep into the tops of their feet. But who cares? They looked good, right? Ladies, let's be real. Nothing looks more ridiculous then when trying to be fashionable rather than practical especially when your surroundings were screaming "comfort" and "functionality" rather than "fashion." I should know. I used to be one of you. You and I both know that your feet do not FEEL good even though you think they LOOK good. Your feet are bleeding for pete's sake! Arlington National Cemetery does not care if you have stilettos on. Most the men are buried in the ground anyway, and I'll guarantee you they're laughing at you from their graves. Bless your hearts.

3) This next story is my favorite of the week. On Wednesday of our vacation, we crowded onto the Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland to watch the ever-so-entertaining Blue Angels fly (along with thousands and thousands of other people). It was hot. Scratch that. It was sweltering. Humid. And have I mentioned it was disgustingly hot? I have very fair skin. A friend of mine once called my complexion like that of skim milk. Nice. So, naturally, I had an umbrella up and around me to shade my poor white body from burning, or worse, tanning. That's when I felt it. A tap on my left shoulder. I turned around to behold a woman screaming over the noise of the flying jets. "Do you think you could put your umbrella down? It's blocking the view!" Oh, the view? You mean the one straight up in the sky thousands of feet above the silhouette of my umbrella? You mean the hoards of people standing in front of you (many of which also had umbrellas) and the two giant trees along the bank of the river weren't already blocking your view? Oh, it was solely my umbrella stopping you from enjoying the show? Well, in that case, let me say one thing: Get over yourself. And, I have a suggestion. How about you take a half a step to your left and magically, your problem (i.e. my umbrella) would no longer be your problem at all. This same lady was later heard excitedly saying, "Oh! This is my favorite formation!" Lady, be honest. How many times have you seen the Blue Angels? Weirdo. And next time you ask me to move it, you're going to get a big, fat "NO!"

4) Picture this. A big family (in every sense of the word) sitting atop a double decker tour bus, tearing pages from their tourist maps and letting them fly off the back of the bus over and over again because, after all, it's hilarious, right? Go, America! Idiots.

5) Foreigners. I have mixed emotions about them. My husband has always jokingly called me Hitler, although it's not funny anymore ever since we visited the Holocaust Museum on our vacation (and in fact, I never did find it all that funny in the first place). But I do have a problem when people from other countries come to our Capitol and don't listen when the tour guide says, "Pictures of the Pentagon are prohibited at this stage of the tour." And then I look over to see a french woman doing what? That's right. Taking pictures of the Pentagon at this stage of the tour--over and over again. Hey! Lady! I don't care if you ignore tour guides in your own country! But listen up when we say you can't take pictures of the Pentagon! Got it?! It has to do with a little something known as September 11, 2001. Sheesh. At first, I thought it was because she didn't understand any English. And, then I knew it was because she didn't know any English. Point proven.

6) And if you thought my last story was harsh, just take a gander at the photo below and you'll know I am not opposed to taking criticism myself. That's right. My brother and sister-in-law snapped this picture. That's me (the oblivious looking one on the left) and my hubby (the really oblivious looking one on the right). If you look closely, that little blue handicapped sign above our heads reads: "Priority Seating." Of all the seats available for us to choose, we picked those two. 'Nuf said. Oh, and we laughed pretty stinkin' hard when we realized what we had done. Until next time ;)

Dear Morons (not MORMONS, M-O-R-O-N-S) of the World,

You suck. No, really. You do. You know how I know this? Because I deal with you people every single day. And dare I say, it's making me a little stir-crazy? Like that time today when I was driving to pick Jason up from work, and I looked in my rearview mirror to behold one of your kind throwing a fistful of garbage out his window like it was rice at a wedding. Seriously, dude? It hasn't been cool to litter since like 1996. And if I hadn't run the risk of driving into the ditch while trying to grab a pen and McDonald's receipt off the floor of the car so that I could write your license plate down, I totally would have reported you to Al Gore--or at least the police!

Or like that time this week at work when I took your blood pressure and it was too high and another one of you said, "I'll just go down to the blood bank and donate a pint. That always brings it down." OOOHHH. Right. Until your body does it's job and produces more blood to replace the old blood and then your poor little blood cells are again left to find passage between your veins and arteries that are clogged with lard and sodium.

Or like the time this week when pulling out of our apartment complex, one of you pulled up behind us, honked your horn, and mockingly flagged us on to turn left. OH! Is that what we do after four lanes of traffic have cleared? We actually carry through with the manuever our left blinker was signaling by jerking the wheel to the left? DON'T you dare give me that stupid thumbs up sign, Mister Neighbor! Because I KNOW for a fact you freakin' don't mean it, you big impatient idiot.

I have to go. My face is getting warm. And I'm hungry. But this isn't the end. I'll be back with more tongue lashings. Is there no accountability anymore? Sheesh.

Warmest Regards,

Rachel

Triple Threat

The idiots are out in full force lately! I think this means the world is going to end soon--or something.

Story 1: I was perusing the shopping racks at Kohl's the other day with my mom (surprise, surprise) when the large Diet Coke I had downed at lunch hit me. I sped to the bathroom upstairs, flung open the door and looked to the first stall for relief. Now, typically I don't go for the first stall. I'm not sure why. I just don't. The second or third always seem like the obvious choice, but for some reason on this particular day, the first stall was calling my name. But before I got too far I stopped dead in my tracks when I realized somebody was occupying the first toilet. I'm not sure what made me pause--divine intervention, perhaps--because it was dead quiet and up until that point, I thought I was the only one in the bathroom. On the contrary! As I passed the stall (and I assure you I was NOT intentionally looking, OK?!), I noticed the "occupant" clicking away on her cell phone. That's right. There she sat, pants down, chillin' with her cell phone in hand, TEXTING on the toilet in a Kohls bathroom. Seriously?! No, really? Are you for real right now? She was. She was for real. SICK. I just did my thing and got the HECK out of there. As my very Caucasian husband would say, "Girl! You trippin'!"

Story 2: What is it with people NOT driving the speed limit?! I mean, really. They're either going Mach 5 or slow as molasses. And usually they have "Jesus Fish" on their tailgates and/or beanie babies on their front dash. I assure you, Jesus wants you to drive the speed limit! And it gets even better when these really efficient drivers "drift" into your lane, forcing you to make an emergency pull to the very outside of your lane to avoid getting hit. And all the while, they are completely and utterly oblivious! This happened to me today on my way home. A beanie-baby loving motorist began the drifting pattern, and before I knew it, I was yanking my wheel so she wouldn't clip the front end of my car. As soon as the cloud of cuss words (you know, like "Dang it!" and "Oh, my heck!") and mean remarks dissipated from my mind, I scooted past her, throwing death glares. And guess what? This fine citizen quickly climbed my ranks of "valuable" members of society when I realized the source of her distraction--she had headphones dangling from her ears. That's right. She was listening to music via headphones as she was driving. Hey! Lady! That's illegal! You know, like "against the law!" Now get out of my way before I yank those stupid things from your head! Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

Story 3: I was at one of my favorite stores earlier today. I was in the jewelry department when I noticed a mother with her 3-year-old daughter. 99.9% of Mom's attention was diverted toward the jewelry selection in front of her, but the little girl seemed innocent enough. She wasn't going to get into any trouble like most 3-year-olds, right? Wrong. Just then, said little "angel" girl stuck out her right arm and basically bulldozed one of the jewelry tables, knocking metal hooped earrings and pearl necklaces all over the tile floor. THIS caught mom's attention--but only long enough for her to look up at her daughter, look down at the mess she had made, turn her back and walk away, daughter in tow. Awesome. Way to set an example for your kid, mom. Don't worry about the mess. No, really. I'll get it. Or I'll get one of the minimum-wage employees to pick it up because that's why they make a whopping eight dollars an hour. And I'm sure your sweet little girl won't think anything of her behavior. In fact, I KNOW she won't think anything of her behavior. I bet it won't be long until she finds something else to destroy, something that's DOESN'T belong to her. That's why society is so screwed up lady, because people like you reproduce over and over again, and the pattern for dumb continues it's inevitable course. Oh, and Happy Mother's Day to the World's Sharpest Mom. Blah.

Twihard

The following is a picture I took in the car while waiting at a stoplight:

Man or woman? Man or woman? It doesn't matter. Clearly "Twilight mania" transcends gender. Right, husband?

Shut Up, Lady

7 AM is too early to see other people, let alone complete strangers. My first patient of the day must of known this because she was pushing ALL the right buttons--and I'm not talking about the ones that make the dental chair go up and down. I'm talking about my buttons, my "feisty, make-Rachel-grumpy" buttons. I wasn't going to write another "dental post," but people never. cease. to. amaze. me.

As the story goes, I was finishing up the cleaning on my first patient this morning. Mind you, she had already loudly articulated how much the x-ray sensor had cut into the bottom of her mouth when I was taking bitewings on her (as if I did this on purpose. Hey, lady. I got it! You ain't the only one who complains about this. Believe me, it's a dead and beaten horse). Also, this particular patient must have gone through her makeup drawer prior to her appointment to find her lip gloss that was the consistency of peanut butter (I think just to spite me). Because I just LOVE it when I get ooey-gooey gloss all over my gloves and consequently, everything else. That's right, lady. Lay it on thick. Thicker next time!

So, it shouldn't have surprised me when this patient said the following to me (key word being "shouldn't):

Me: "OK. I'm going to polish your teeth now."

Patient: "Ugh. FINALLY."

OK. Listen here, peanut butter lips. You've been lying in the chair for maybe--MAYBE--20 minutes, 25 minutes max. I highly doubt your comment of "FINALLY" was necessary as if you'd been imprisoned for thousands of years and you were lastly granted your long-delayed freedom. And, really? I mean, really? Is it THAT awful? Is it? Don't you expect to kind of lie in a dental chair for some period of time when you come to the dental office for a dental appointment. After all, that's why it's called an "appointment" because it is an "appointment of time!" What I really wanted to say to her, you ask? Something along the lines of "Shut up and just let me work" or "My sentiments exactly." But I didn't. Because I would have regretted it. Right? I would have regretted it? Hmmm...

Needless to say, I finished polishing Miss Naysayer's pearly whites and sent her on her whiney way. Boo wah.

Until next time ;)

Here, There & Everywhere

People are ridiculous in all sorts of places. It's an epidemic.

At restaurants:

Real or Fake? Real or Fake?

At the airport:

Hey, lady! Your backside is falling out of your pantaloons! And no, they aren't making out, but that would have been great!

On the road:

See that little blue car? Mr. Car refused to pull forward--maybe he thought there wasn't enough space? There is clearly PLENTY of space! Because Mr. Car would NOT pull forward, he caused a 20 car back-up. Dope.

Until next time ;)

Get A Little Closer

No, really. Get a little closer, white car. I don't think the black car's driver can see the whites of your eyes yet.

Dental Don'ts...Continued

Some of you know (and some of you don't) that I work for...shall we say...less than the "ideal" employer (this is putting it politely). I would like to illustrate how I came to this conclusion about my dentist-boss (*names have been changed to protect the innocent):

Today, Heidi* was assisting my boss in placing some fillings in a patient's mouth. As he was placing flowable in the proximal box (a fancy way of saying he was placing the filling material), the tip to the flowable syringe popped off, oozing gooey flowable everywhere into the patient's mouth. This is a problem, sure. A pain in the tush, yes. However, I don't think it warranted my boss then taking said flowable syringe and chucking at the garbage can with all of his might. Because--guess what--he missed. And the syringe went ricochetting off the counter top, off the wall and hit the patient in the face. AWESOME. Way to handle yourself, Mr. Boss Man. Way to show professionalism and poise in a stressful situation. Way to throw a freakin' hissy fit like a five-year-old. Answer me this, sir. Really?! Are you serious? Oh, you are. Just like every other member of humanity when I ask them the same stinkin' question. But wait...it gets better (That's right, you didn't think it could).

My boss then made a real jerk out of himself when he became frustrated with the saliva ejector, ripped it from the corner of the same patient's mouth and hit the patient in the face AGAIN. What?! No, you didn't, Mr. Boss Man. Oh, you did? Un-real. Un-freaking-real.

You want to know the real kicker? The coup-de-grace? The icing on top? The cherry and all that jazz? The patient was a nurse at Sacred Heart Hospital in the Psychiatric Ward. She may or may not know something about bedside/chairside manner. Agree or disagree? Oh, the irony!

You know what they say, Mr. Boss Man. What goes around, comes around--so you best be on the lookout flying composite syringes and piss-poor attitudes. Until next time...;)

"Butt-Munch"

Remember when "butt munch" was the offensive word to call your friends and/or siblings when they were getting on your nerves? Or was it just me? Anyway, now that I've grown older (but not always more mature), I try not to use the ridiculous phrase for a few reasons. First, it's stupid. Second, it's gross. Third, I'm too old. Fourth, it doesn't make sense. Or does it? I was eating lunch with my mom and sister at a local sandwich shop last week. We spotted the following spectacle:

Mmmm. Y-U-M. What a delicious sight to behold as I stretched my mouth around my Western turkey sandwich with no mayo and provolone cheese. And you know what popped into my head as I was trying to prevent the image from being burned on the back of my eyeballs? That's right. The 'ol trusty and oft-abused insult of "Butt Munch." Needless to say, I only took about 3 bites of my sandwich. My "munchies" were squashed by this young woman's complete inability to cover her tush. 'Scuse me, miss? Is that Reach Clean-Burst Cinnamon-flavored waxed dental floss hanging out of your pants? Oh, no? It's not? Say what? OH! It's your thong! I was mistaken. I apologize, but by "apologize" I mean I don't apologize at all. I think that you should do us all a favor and become more aware of what hangs out of your pants, especially in an environment where food is served. Also, do you think you could please cover up said bum crack? Or I might just have to call you a "Butt Munch" behind your back--and actually mean it. Until next time ;)

Lard Legs

I was perusing the mall the other day with my favorite person on the planet--No, not Edward...or Tim Riggins. Jason--I was walking with Jason. I just talked myself out of stopping to get a Cinnabon when I looked up to see this:

Dearest readers, please tell me what is wrong with this picture. No, really. Give it a shot. Give up? Welp, let me tell you what's wrong with the picture. Oh, where to begin?! How about the fact that no living person would or should fit into a pair of leopard print skinny jeans if the freakin' mannequin can't even fit into them. I once heard that if mannequins were real people, they wouldn't be able to menstruate or stand up straight because their bodies would be so disproportionate (or was that Barbie?). Either way, it doesn't matter because I seriously want to talk to the employee who put this little ensemble together, took a step back to admire his or her work, and said to themselves, "Yeah, that looks totally great...and totally natural." And then I want to slap that person in the head. And I just LOVE the fact that the pants are SO tight that they literally cut of the mannequin's remaining leg structure. Maybe I'm mistaken. Maybe that's actually paint on those mannequin legs, like a really abstract, weirdo "masterpiece" of fashion. It's set-ups like these that make every female in America take a hit on their own self-esteem. As I sheepishly looked down to behold my own ginormous thunder thighs and cankles, I thought to myself, "I must suck as a human being or I am getting old because this is the most ridiculous thing I have beheld since walking past the teenager in the pajama bottoms and pink Ug boots." That's right; I think of run-on sentences in my head all the time...

So, you know what I did? I went a bought that freakin' Cinnabon and I ate the whole stinkin' thing. And I hope all that gooey butter and high-calorie sugar when straight to my butt and legs and stays there forever so I never can even THINK about fitting into (or hating myself for not fitting into) something that would suffocate a toddler--or in this case, a mannequin. Clothes that are too tight for a mannequin? Seriously, America? That's new low, even for us.

Until next time ;)

Dear Creeper Sitting in the Corner of the Gym,

I did not notice you--at all. Until I was walking to grab my jacket to leave. I had a sneaking suspicion you were trying to talk to me, although I could not hear you through my wickedly awesome mix of workout tunes (*side note: why is it that people try to talk to you when you clearly have music blaring in your ears? It's beyond me). Either that or you were mouthing the words to a song while staring straight at me. I removed my ear buds just in time to hear you say to me: "Are you calling it quits?" Me, feeling a little befuddled (and cautious), simply stated, "Yep. I've had enough for today" to which you replied: "Yeah. It looked like you were working pretty hard." Mr. Creeper Man, please allow me to review the questions that then ran through my mind after your last observation/statement:

1) How old are you?

2) Where did you come from?

3) How long have you been sitting there?

4) More importantly, how long have you been watching me?

5) Do you come here often? If so, remind me to avoid you at all costs.

6) Why are you just chillin' on the incline press machine?

So, forgive me, Mr. Creeper Man for hurriedly grabbing my things and walking away from you (and by walking I mean running). And you'll understand why my car keys endured a death grip on the way to the parking lot. I'll have you know, Mr. Creeper, that I would have stabbed you between the eyes with them if it came to that...you know, like I see in all the movies.

Here's hoping I never run into you again at the gym (or have you watching me from afar unknowingly).

Sincerely,

Rachel

Dental Don'ts...To Be Continued

I've been seriously slacking! I don't know why. There are always ridiculous people to write about. Take today, for example. I am a dental hygienist, and in my line of work, I end up seeing some really disgusting things, things I won't describe to you for fear of making you nauseated. But today, a particular patient taught me (and now you) 2 behaviors NOT to do while seeing your dentist and/or dental hygienist. Mind you, this list is endless and I am only touching on the "tip of the iceberg."

1. We use an automated blood pressure cuff at our office to check each patient's blood pressure. On this particular patient, the cuff was not registering. I tried again. No dice. After the third attempt, I was ready to give up when the woman said, "Do you want me to just take off my sweatshirt?" I replied, "Sure, although sweatshirts usually don't get in the way." Before I knew it, this woman had stripped her arm out of her sleeve to reveal--NOTHING. As in there was no shirt or tank top or other article of clothing under the sweatshirt. There she sat, in her bra, belly bulging, white, bright, and covered in things I hope to never see on my body. Immediately, I had that conversation with myself (in my head, of course) It went a little something like this:

Rachel, remain calm. Do not try and understand why this woman feels OK with stripping down to her bra in a dental office. Do not act like it's a big deal even though every fiber of your being is telling you to look the other way. Do not attract attention to your operatory, and thus, alert the rest of the dental team to complete and utter confusion/shock. They will think that this was your idea if you do that! Just take the blood pressure and get the woman to put her freakin' sweatshirt back on. And remember, you are stronger for this!

2. Believe it or not, we made it through the cleaning, the exam, and all other festivities of fun that go along with a trip to the dentist. Prior to dismissing this same patient, I offered her a fluoride treatment to which she obliged. As I was preparing to place the foam fluoride trays in her mouth, she paused and looked straight ahead, as if needing a second to herself. I, too, then paused...and waited. With mouth wide open and me halfway reaching to squish the trays into place, she BELCHES. OUT LOUD. LIKE THIS: (think of the grossest burp you've ever heard). She then looks at me like, "What are you waiting for?" Clearly, she was ready for her fluoride treatment. Remain calm, Rachel. Remain calm. Deep breaths...no! Don't do that! You'll smell her disgusting burp! Just run...leave the fluoride to fend for itself. And save yourself...

OK. It wasn't THAT dramatic, but next time you go to the dentist, DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT...

a) remove your clothing for any reason other than to be resuscitated by emergency personnel

b) Burp in the hygienist's face (or any other staff member for that matter)

Full Of It

This week has been a jackpot for idiocy. I almost have too many stories to count. I picked my favorite three for your enjoyment (I told you I was full of it). I'll save the others for a rainy day. Sound good?

I had a doctor's appointment this last Monday. As I was waiting to be seen, I noticed a couple sitting across from me (pictured below). Frankly, it was hard not to "notice" them seeing as it was a small waiting room and we were the only patients there. The office had placed a small glass dish full of candy on the coffee table (you can actually see it pictured in the right hand side of the photo), and the woman helped herself to a piece. No big deal. Nevermind the incredibly loud mouth noises this woman was making. Smack. Suck. Slurp. Click. Again. And Again. And again. As she finished her delectable treat, she proceeded to dig out the remains from the crevices of her teeth using her fingers (OK, OK we all do this. Sometimes, it's just necessary, no?). But--and it's a big BUT--most of us do NOT then proceed to the front desk of a physician's office and sign papers with a pen that, more than likely, other people will be using that day.

Forget about it, lady. Seriously, don't sweat it. I personally don't mind unknowingly using a pen that has somebody else's nasty mouth germs all over it. Who cares about hand hygiene anyway? Probably just really uptight people like dental hygienists...and moms. It's not really necessary. That hand sanitizer sitting on the counter top was probably just for show, anyhow. But just a heads up, lady--most considerate people wash their hands after having them in or near their mouths (that goes for other orifices of the body, as well). Oh, and hey. I just thought of a great word to describe you, dirty hand lady: GRODY (P.S. I haven't used that word since 5th grade).

Story Numero Dos. I was driving to work yesterday. There is a prominent intersection in Spokompton that gets a lot of traffic. At that intersection sits a big, large, bold sign that states, "DO NOT BLOCK INTERSECTION." But by "DO NOT BLOCK INTERSECTION" do you think they really mean "IT'S OK. BLOCK THE INTERSECTION IF YOU WANT TO" ?. Hmmm. That must be it because the lady in the Ford Taurus next to me was...you guessed it...blocking the intersection. I slowly rolled past this woman as the light turned green, my gaze thick with scrutiny. But don't worry. She was doing something TOTALLY important. She was texting--with both hands. Question: What are you using to operate your vehicle, lady? And yes, that honking is coming from the line of cars behind you because green means "go" in this country. As I looked closer, I felt a wave of relief when I realized she was using her knees to guide the steering wheel. Duh! Why didn't I think of that?! I could have been texting while driving this whole time! Another thing that was awesome? There was a baby car seat in the back. Pure genius, this woman was. Pure genius.

Last one--for today. My sister is coming home from the Mayo Clinic after spending a week there. I stopped in at the dollar store to pick up some helium balloons as a "Welcome Home" treat for her (Who doesn't love a giant bouquet of balloons? Ooh, I do). The store was packed with women who had penciled-in eyebrows and screaming children. As the sales clerk was helping me with my selection, we both heard a loud "Ahem" from the check out counter behind us followed by a tapping and clicking of some sort. We turned around to see what I thought to be a fellow customer, repeatedly tapping her rings on the counter top to get the sales clerk's attention. The sales lady gave me a torn look to which I replied, "Go ahead, I can wait." She then headed over to the check stand where I heard the "tap-tap" lady state, "Is this bugging you yet?" as she continued to beat her ring-adorned fingers against the counter top. I wanted to chuck the first thing I could find at her and yell, "No! But is sure is bugging me!" I refrained. And then it got even better when I realized that this annoying woman was not another customer. Oh, no. She was another employee at the store who happened to be on her break and had some purchases to make. And by "purchases" I mean she bought one freakin' greeting card. Is that card for me, rude lady? Is it an "I'm sorry" note for dragging your fellow worker who was obviously in the middle of helping a customer? Is it? I sure hope it is because I can't believe you right now. Clearly, you "don't get it." Clearly, you don't understand the employee-customer relationship. Clearly, you're obsurd, and I want to take that greeting card and crumple it up. Crumple it up real good so you can be annoyed by me so you know how it feels! Enjoy your freakin' lunch break, lady. I'll be here--waiting--for the next available employee, and it better not be you.

Unit G5

A few weeks ago, my mom and I made a shopping trip to Costco for some Holiday "goods." As usual, my dear, sweet husband opted out of the shopping trip, and remained contently at home watching the Gonzaga basketball game. Go Zags! (They lost that game, FYI). Anywho, we (as in my mom and I), swung by to pick Jason up on the way home so that we could head back to my parents' for pizza and movie.

While waiting patiently in the car-emphasis on the "patient" part, we noticed some headlights pull up behind us and stop. Now, if we were sitting at, say, a stoplight, this would not be unusual at all. In fact, it's expected for another driver to line up behind you and wait until the light turns green, right? But in an apartment complex parking lot, it seemed a bit strange. I re-positioned my car closer to the curb just in case and then I waited, expecting her to drive past us, because that's what you do when you're in a car---you drive! Clearly, this woman had plenty of space to manuever around us and get to where she needed to go. Surely she wasn't actually waiting for me to move my car completely so that she had maybe two more feet to work with.

You know that thing that happens when you're so sure of something, and then that "something" turns around and slaps you in the face and tells you you're dead wrong and the unbelievable is actually happening? And you're left to try and figure out what really is going on? Well, that happened to my mom and me when we realized that this woman, was in fact, trying to make a statement by staying parked behind me until I moved COMPLETELY out of her way. That's right. After about 30 more seconds of her staying parked behind us, she began to slowly pull forward. Before she even pulled up beside us, I could feel her dagger stare in the back of my head, and I wanted to throw up on her on she drove slowly by and shot us the sourest look I may have ever seen. Don't worry--I fed her one right back (I have a few of those up my sleeve. Just ask Jase). But this woman was relentless, even turning her head as her car moved forward. She looked a little like that scene from The Exorcist with her head all turning around to keep the gaze. The nerve! And I'm pretty sure at that point both my mom and I were gasping out of shock and muttering things like, "Oh, no she didn't!"

It gets better. This woman then pulls into one of the assigned parking spots. You know what that means, don't you? She is our neighbor!! She gets out of her car, locks her door, all the while not taking one eye off of us. She walks to her door, opens it, goes in, takes one last creepy peek at us through the window, and then shuts the blinds! What?! Are you serious, Unit G5?! Are you? I'm sorry that my car parked in front of my house would ruin your entire life! What can I do to make it up to you, G5? Please tell me because I will quickly do whatever it takes to make it right, and by "quickly do whatever it takes" I mean "Yeah, right! Because you are ridiculous." I WAS thinking about bringing over a plate of cookies, but maybe instead, I'll bring you over a giant air horn and a middle finger for you to use. That just seems way more appropriate. I'm going to go take a deep breath, G5. And maybe, just maybe, we can settle this in the parking lot. Until next time...;)