The Prairie Spy

Alan “Lindy” Linda

I squinted and peered out past the dark V-shaped laughing gas mask that pressed so suffocatingly down upon my nose. All I could see, looming over me, were the arc-welder blue eyes of the dentist who was at a frightening pace removing tooth enamel with which I had become very attached.

The laughing gas wasn’t working for me. I definitely didn’t feel like laughing. As usual, everything was backwards. The dentist murmured something to his assistant. They both laughed.

I reconsidered those blue eyes of the dentist again. No doubt, some of Hitler’s plans called for everyone to have eyes like that. What if…..? Maybe…..? Could she be……?

I considered trying to escape, make a break for freedom, toothache and all. Then gave it up. For one thing, dentist-terrorists are demon clever. Why else put you in a chair that’s tipped back so far it’s almost upside down? Because it would be impossible to escape from it.

Dentists cannot afford to risk having even one panicky victim break loose and make it out the front door, screaming and shedding stainless steel bits of pick axes and hammers and stuff. Like I said: They’re clever.

For instance, have you ever noticed that dentists never never never let you get a glimpse of The Needle? The Needle with which they’re going to “just numb you up a bit?” This is just one of many clever tricks they learn in Dental Torture 101, while going to Demon Dentist school. Believe it or not,  I once saw one of those needles by accident. They are at least one foot long, so long they could go into your jaw, out the other side, and still trip women and children on the sidewalk outside.

“Okay,” the dentist said, in that oily calm voice they learn in school, “open wide.” That tone is so smooth, so calming.

It’s the same tone I use before I put a suffering chipmunk or some other mortally wounded creature out of its misery.

“We’re going to feel a little pressure,” said the dentist. Oh,  boy. The hair on the back of my neck stood straight out. “WE?”  “WE?” We’re going to what? I’ll tell you what. Give me one of those foot long needles and at the same time you perforate my face, I’ll jab you in some yet-to-be-named anatomy. Until then, let’s skip this “we” stuff.

“That’s good,” said the dentist. Nope. Uh uh. 

A minute later, as she started to work, cold water from the Skilsaw she was using on my mouth began to run down my neck. More overspray from a Black and Decker sidegrinder likely purchased at the local hardware store splattered  rainfall on my face.

“That’s great,” she said.

Rumor has it that there is an informal contest amongst dentists to see which of them can get the longest needle unseen into a victim’s jaw. The winner gets an automatic membership into a little-unknown Libyan school of explosives.

“That’s wonderful,” she said, after more drilling.

First good, then great, then wonderful.

The last time I heard that many superlatives used I was listening to a politician defending his use of a private government building for personal gain.

Things in my experience never go good, great, wonderful.

Now what! His helper is stirring up concrete. Oh nooooooo.