Not like torture.
It was torture.
When I sat down in the reclining chair and waited as they slowly tipped it back, I wondered why we were in a closed room with no windows. I wondered why there were three masked and gloved women in the cramped space with me. I wondered why they were putting a dark cloth over my face. But I sat there like a fool waiting for my death.
And then it happened.
All the drill sounds you hear in horror flicks when a person is gagged and about to have something vital cut off start whirling right above of my gaping mouth. And then the torture began.
With my face completely covered, save my mouth (you thought I was exaggerating, didn't you?), I heard a number of whirling gadgets -- none of which contained the appropriate toothpastey stuff normally found on whirling gadgets. She poked and prodded in my mouth, showered my teeth with liters of water (trying on the metric system for size, how am I doing?), and didn't even bother sucking it out with that other tube that was hanging out at the back of my throat with my uvula. I swear, she nearly attached that thing to my soft pallet and forgot about the water and saliva pooling at the base of my tongue. I ended up swallowing it until she was done with the dry tooth-cleaning. The scraping of metal against my teeth was worse than nails on a chalkboard -- not only did I hear the atrocious sound, I also had to endure the feel of it against my teeth. Now I'm wondering if the two other girls in attendance could tell how much I was cringing under the face cloth by the clutching of my hands in my lap.
Just as I was ready to rip the cloth off of my face, all the while surprised my arms weren't tied down, I felt it lifted off of me, and the bright light from the dentist lamp shone down on me. I was advised to spit and rinse my mouth. No thanks, I've already swallowed it already.
But wait, there's more.
The 'regular' teeth-cleaning portion began, complete with face cloth, water, and the reuniting of my soft pallet and the sucky tube. The distinct feeling of actual paste against my teeth was a blessed relief. At least this was something I was familiar with. I waited in darkness for it to all be over; feeling exposed, vulnerable, and not the least comfortable. Finally, the cloth was removed for the last time and a mirror was shoved in my hand. I was instructed to open my mouth again so the dentist could point out the cleanliness of my teeth, but I was distracted by all the greyish spots around my mouth, arms, and even a little on my clothes. The crusty paste had seeped into my deepest pores. I ground my teeth and immediately felt it everywhere. No amount of rinsing could cleanse me of the horrific memory of such a deed.
I left directly after I paid. Why I paid for such torture, I will never know. And what do you suppose I did when I left that unassuming horror show? Stuff my face with dinner. And dessert.
Apple cheesecake had never tasted so good.
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