Aric McKeown

Look here, my memory is horrible. I barely know what is going on this evening. Names, appointments, and items at the grocery store are all fair game for my forgetful nature. Even if herbal supplements weren’t a complete scam, I have a feeling they wouldn’t work on my poor excuse for a memory muscle.

Enter the dentist. If you visit the office of a dentist, good luck getting out of there without making your next appointment. From what little I recall of my last visit, I was escorted into a tiny white office after my cleaning. I was even told to take a seat. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was in for a high pressure pitch on a timeshare.

There was no way I was getting out of that office without making my next dentist appointment. As they had it set up, it would take a grand gesture to get up from my seat and walk out of the tiny office. But my mouth had just been violated by so many small metal tools. I was is no state, physically or emotionally, to make a grand gesture.

So here I am, 6 months later with an unexpected dentist appointment looming after the lunch hour. I feel like I was tricked. Sure, it’s important to have your teeth cleaned and checked. And I would get to it, eventually. But this whole arrangement is out of my hands. It isn’t my decision any more.

I’m starting to fear that tiny room more than the tiny instruments. Maybe I should become claustrophobic. All I need is a storm sewer and some rats.