The intellectual equivalent of a ham sandwich.

Posts tagged ‘weird’

Dear Dentists (and Proctologists)

Today I went to the dentist (it was a successful visit). She was wearing a shirt that said, “I’d rather be a dentist than a proctologist.” I thought that was pretty clever.

And yet, dentistry has a high rate of suicide. How can that be? If you can’t handle the tooth, don’t read on.

No I’m just kidding, I have no insights – I just wanted to make that joke. Really, I’m wondering why proctology and dentistry aren’t swapped as far as suicide. Sure, halitosis is bad, but even if someone’s breath smells like ass that is LITERALLY what proctologists are dealing with.

Do proctologists have scented surgical masks? If so, why don’t they share the technological insight with dentists? Is there a secret dentist-proctologist battle going on? If so, can I please be a writer for a TV show about it?

Furthermore, I think it’s socially acceptable for smart people to talk to themselves while working. Think about it. If you’re watching a movie about some genius hacker, and while working by him or herself the person makes little jokes, “oh you’re downgrading the mainframe? Clever, but not clever enough!” no one thinks, “well, that’s a sign of insanity.” No! They think, “dang he must really be smart if he’s kinda nuts.”

When my dentist is looking at my teeth she says things out loud that are nominally for my benefit but since I have no idea what she’s seeing (or how she comes to the conclusions she’s come to) she’s really just talking to herself. “Oh, look at that … Ok, great … Hmm, slight crack.” Then, to the hygienist, “make a note to look at K9.”

Which brings me to my punchline. If other smart people are allowed to talk to themselves while at work, why not proctologists? Can you imagine a more stress-reducing thing than to have some patient you hate, in front of you in the most humiliating way, and then to say outloud, “ok, ass hole …”

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Du Jour of the Week

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One Last Thing Before You Go

She knew I wanted to break up with her. I’m convinced she knew. That’s why she started saying all these really weird things.

We’d be hanging out. Her doing some errands, me watching TV. Or maybe her watching TV, me reading. And one of us would make a snide comment to the other, pretty much unprovoked. It was really time for things to end. Then I would mentally take the plunge, the dreaded phrase, “listen, um ….” It would escape my lips with all the pomp and circumstance of a funeral procession. Then out of her, as though she hadn’t heard me at all, would come the weirdest thing.

“Have you thought about taking banjo lessons?”

It was like choking on something, having that “listen, um…” come back at me to be set aside for another time. No I hadn’t thought about banjo lessons, but now of course that was my top priority. Me? Banjo lessons? Well, I just think you’d be really good. Really? At banjo? Yeah of course! Can’t you see it? The relationship would live another day. And it turns out I suck at banjo.

“You look like you could’ve been a jeans jacket model in the late 80’s … have I told you that before?”

Honest. She said that to me once.

We were putting on clothes to go get ice cream from the grocery store and then she made a comment about my old shoes which led to me making a comment about all her new shoes which led her to comment on how I’ve gained weight and then I started in on a new insult when I realized the smarter thing to say would be, “listen … um …” Somehow she sensed it and instead I received,

“Turtle soup seems like the kind of thing you would’ve invented if you’d been alive all those years back. You know, back before it was invented. I just feel like you would’ve been the first one to see a turtle and thought, ‘yeah, let’s do this.'”

How could I break up with someone after they say such confusing, weird things? She was deliberately delaying our break up with little cups of crazy. I couldn’t leave – I had to know what was going to happen next. It’s like being sucked into a bad TV show or book, where you can’t stop now because geez you’ve put in all this effort and well occasionally something kinda interesting happens I guess.

“Listen, um …”

Wait what? She had just muttered that phrase to me and I couldn’t believe it. She’s doing this now? Really? On the one hand, yes, I don’t have to feel sorry for her now … but on the other hand THAT’S MY LINE. She did it, she pulled the gun and ended things. We were outside her apartment at the time. I asked if we could go up and grab my things. Up the flights of stairs we went in pained silence. As far as I knew she was preparing some incredibly weird thing to say before I could walk out of her door for the last time. I couldn’t handle that. Not again. This time it’ll be me.

“Do you want to keep my t-shirt that you sleep in?” I asked, sincerely. I don’t want that thing.
“Why would I want that?,” she asked surprisingly angry. Hey, didn’t YOU just break up with ME?
“I don’t know!,” whoops, now I’m angry. “God,” whoops again. Anger, you silly fiend.

We both look around, realizing at the same time we’d needlessly gotten angry with each other.

“So, is that everything?” She was asking about my clothes, but for a second I got dramatic and thought about how it really was everything in terms of us. Then I remembered my pledge to myself – that I had to be the one to leave on the weird note. She was opening her mouth, I hadn’t thought of anything, oh no, “one last thing before -”

“Sandwiches are a ploy by the government to …” oh no, something!, something!, “to um … you’ve gained weight.”

Then I turned and walked out.

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Short Short Stories

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Is She the One?

I saw her across the room and before I knew it I was walking toward her. I didn’t know what to say so I decided to start with a lie.

“Hi, your sandwich might be poisoned.”

She politely informed me she had no sandwich nearby. I politely informed her, looking down and to the right, that I may be too late. Then I looked at her and said in a self-fulfilling prophecy sort of way, my God, you can’t keep your eyes off me. She stared disappointedly.

I asked her if I was coming on a little strong and she said you lack the muscle tone for that. I thought, wow, this is the one, and then she almost ruined the mood by saying quit staring at my chest. I asked if she wanted to play truth or dare, she told me I looked a lot better when my mouth was closed. I took the hint and started doing some spontaneous interpretive dancing.

Oh, look out ladies, I seemed to be saying with my hips, I’m available and I may be too much to handle. She didn’t seem to be getting this so I asked for her number to text her what my interpretive dance was saying.

She said she didn’t give her number out to dancers, not after that incident with Jean. I said it’s pronounced jean, as in the clothing item, and her lack of worldliness is probably what ended things. She said a pair of flannel sweatpants would probably get further with her than I ever would. I told her that’s incorrect, they would definitely get further than I ever would.

I stormed off making thunder noises, and doing jazz hands while yelling the word lightning. I hurried back quietly and informed her that I had stormed off, get it, and was she sad about it. She said a gale force wind was coming in, then she wound up and got a little spittle on my face as she treated my face like a birthday cake with too many candles. It was my turn to be disgusted. She whispered, my name is Gale, get it.

This is going to be an interesting first date.

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Short Short Stories

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