Clean teeth and Mondays or "A Bad Tooth Day"

Today was an interesting sort of day. Work was fairly normal. A little time in the shop, a little time inside a booth pulling wires through holes in cabinets and mounting equipment on metal plates. Nothing of real note until I left for the dentist office. Sitting in the waiting room, which to be fair isn't usually a long affair, I overheard talk that made me believe the dentist was having a bad day. Nearing a holiday I guess they get a little busier due to people wanting to have the doc take care of that pain they've been living with for a while. After all, what if it gets worse while your out of town visiting Aunt Betsie. (Hey, she can spell her name any way she wants) Then too, the folks who tried some peanut brittle a cow-orker treated them to and ended up with a chipped tooth need a little attention. At any rate, when my late appointment got under way I was under the skilful hand of a harried dentist. Very nice, as always, but definitely harried. The cleaning, an add on since there was a hygienist available and I hadn't had one for a while, went fine. Not a big fan of the salt water stain removal process, but I do like the daily dose of southern style tea so a little salt water isn't a bad price to pay. Then came the crown installation. The old one came right out. The new one went right in. Then it happened. After the crown and been fitted to my mouth and was being readied for the permanent affixing between two other of my teeth the dentist cursed the whole operation by commenting on how great the tooth looked. The colour matched my other teeth just perfectly and the fit was outstanding. She used the word, "beautiful" to describe it though I suggested, as a manly man, I would prefer another adjective. I had to admit, it felt really good and the whole ordeal went more smoothly than the last ones had. Epoxy in place the crown was placed on the stub of my original tooth and I was asked to keep pressure on it by clamping down on the cotton ball that had been strategically and carefully placed adjacent to my upper teeth and the new crown. After a few minutes, one or two longer than I wish now it had been, the assistant came back in the room and asked me to open my mouth. "So, how does it feel?" It feels like it shifted or something was my response. As a matter of fact it had. And there was no getting that sucker out of there either. It was home to stay. So, out came the drill and some special bits I presume, and she proceeded to cut that new, beautiful, crown, off. The next one is on the house needless to say. Other than the time off work, which will eat a little more of my personal time than I wanted it to, I actually felt sorry for the dentist. I'm glad I work with stuff that can take a pretty good punch if I get frustrated with it and if something breaks, at least it's not a persons tooth or nose or toe or whatever. I don't think I am cut out to be a dentist, but I'm glad some people are. So I left the dentist office to suffer through the rest of it's Monday/Thursday on it's own, but I took all of my clean teeth with me.