A short distance away from where I stand is a tiny metal desk where an even tinier smiling receptionist sits. She seems to be in some sort of trance as she stares at the TV. not even noticing of my arrival. A few nervous patients of all ages and sizes sit like condemned inmates on death row waiting to be brought to the chair. They try to avoid bringing their eyes toward the closed, threatening doors leading to the dental surgery rooms, where a high pitched whirring sound is coming from. Occasionally, I hear a muffled thud, or yell from behind the 200 pound metal framed doors of doom.
Plastered on the lime green walls are dramatic before and after photos of past patients. They show yellow teeth set crookedly in red raw gums that miraculously become brilliantly white and straight. Photographs of people with toothy grins beam down at me from newspaper clippings from over the years from past media attention that this office has received.
Somewhere in the distance I hear my name called in a very plain and boring voice “Sauceda, Alexander” as I walked to the doors of doom it must be my imagination or something because I could already taste the slightly stale, bubblegum flavored paste, the cool hard metal of the mirror tool the dentist uses to check far back teeth, and the “clink clink sound it makes when it collides with my teeth. Underneath me I can feel the vinyl of the reclining chairs, which are covered in an itch uncomfortable plastic. I just wish that Dr.... [continues]
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