Friday, February 18, 2011
Routine Maintenance
I went to the dentist on Thursday, which provided its usual doses of public radio and awkwardness. I had the hygienist who talks incessantly about subjects in which I have no interest this time. We started out with the weather and everyone's health, which are to be expected, but she also got into politics and the general status of my career, subjects that I frankly prefer not to discuss while someone's hands are in my mouth. She also asked me if I watched Survivor and,when I said that I did not, proceeded to talk about it anyway for about 15 minutes. Luckily, the only contribution that could reasonably have been expected from me was an occasional affirmative grunt. I am poetic with my nonverbals.
I also had a haircut yesterday. My stylist let me wait for fifteen minutes in the reception area, where there were NO MAGAZINES, and then had someone else shampoo me while he deeply contemplated his cuticles. I was therefore really crabby and uncommunicative for the first five minutes or so before the realization kicked in that this person had a big pair of scissors and was looking to use it on my head. Plus I knew that if I didn't start talking he would just keep making unprovoked dirty puns. I think I'm going to switch to that hilarious and heartbreaking salon depicted in the classic film Steel Magnolias.
I went to the dentist on Thursday, which provided its usual doses of public radio and awkwardness. I had the hygienist who talks incessantly about subjects in which I have no interest this time. We started out with the weather and everyone's health, which are to be expected, but she also got into politics and the general status of my career, subjects that I frankly prefer not to discuss while someone's hands are in my mouth. She also asked me if I watched Survivor and,when I said that I did not, proceeded to talk about it anyway for about 15 minutes. Luckily, the only contribution that could reasonably have been expected from me was an occasional affirmative grunt. I am poetic with my nonverbals.
I also had a haircut yesterday. My stylist let me wait for fifteen minutes in the reception area, where there were NO MAGAZINES, and then had someone else shampoo me while he deeply contemplated his cuticles. I was therefore really crabby and uncommunicative for the first five minutes or so before the realization kicked in that this person had a big pair of scissors and was looking to use it on my head. Plus I knew that if I didn't start talking he would just keep making unprovoked dirty puns. I think I'm going to switch to that hilarious and heartbreaking salon depicted in the classic film Steel Magnolias.
