I check in with reception at Laird Dental.
“You’re 30 minutes early,” the receptionist says.
“Oh, right.”
I explain how I purposely input my appointments 15, 20, or 30 minutes earlier than the actual time, you know, to trick myself into being punctual.
“Smart. I wish all our patients did that.”
“They need to be neurotic,” I reply.
I sit down in the waiting area, immediately regretting my early arrival. Across from me, a woman dressed like a tour guide at a mausoleum, if there was such a thing, sits staring at me, squinting. Not glancing, not polite, just full-on staring, disapproving and judgmental. I can sense it. However, for some reason I’m the one who feels guilty being “caught” looking at her. I give her a weak smile, the kind that says, We’re strangers, but we’re both human. Can we not be weird? No reaction.
Then a man comes in and begins to settle beside her. (Her husband?) They don’t acknowledge one another. He is already locked onto me before his butt hits the seat. Now I’m being tag-teamed.
So, I do what any normal person would do in this situation: a stare-down. The woman doesn’t blink. The man is unshakable. They’re clearly pros.
In frustration, I raise my eyebrows and tilt my head as if to say, “What?!” Zippo. Just squinting, powered-down robots.
I look down at my shirt for a toothpaste stain, a misaligned button, something, anything. Self-consciously, my hand moves to my hair, fingers groping for an explanation. A leaf? Am I receding that badly?
“Mister Crick?” the hygienist calls from the doorway. Ugh.… “You mean Crichton?” She looks at her clipboard. “Crick?”
“It’s Crichton. David.”
“Right. This way, please.”
As I stand to follow her, I glance back to make sure I haven’t left anything behind — and there it is. A TV mounted on the wall above my seat. The news is playing. The squinting robots are glued to it. I wasn’t the main attraction; I was just in the way of their prime-time TV viewing.
In the chair, the hygienist hooks the suction tube onto the corner of my mouth and gets to work. I can either stare at her and make us both uncomfortable or strain to watch the TV mounted ahead of me. I opt not to have a restraining order slapped on me.
The news catches my attention: Europe is launching two satellites to create a total eclipse of the sun. Huh!? The saliva sucker drowns out the details.
I must mutter something, because the hygienist pauses and removes the suction. “You okay?”
“Did you see that? Europe’s launching satellites to block the sun for some research. What about the rest of us? How selfish?!”
She shrugs. “I don’t pay attention to the news while I’m working.”
Good point, I think. I probably don’t want her to.
After my appointment, I stop at M&S Auto to drop off my snow tires. Rick, the owner, greets me. Rick, with his perfect hair. As we talk about tread depth and tire pressures, I can’t stop staring at his mane. It’s thick, shiny, symmetrical. He combs his fingers through it in what looks like slow motion. Oh, to have that hair.
Finally, I make my way to Tony’s Barber Shop. Mahsa greets me with her usual warm smile as I sit down. “Anything new?” she asks as she starts combing through the remaining hairs on my head.
“Just trying to quiet the voices in there,” I say.
She pauses, plucks something out of my hair and holds it up. A shiny ribbon? Foil? She gives me a questioning look.
Piece of satellite, perhaps? There are stranger things.
This article was guest contributed by David Crichton.
