In our neighborhood, a dentist spread his entrepreneurial wings, and bought a restaurant, with enough office space upstairs to house his dental practice.
I don’t know anything about the dentist’s background. Maybe he worked as a waiter to put himself through school. Or maybe he was attracted to the porcelain tiles that decorated the interior.
What matters now is he is a dentist and restauranteur and needs to bridge the gap between these two divergent establishments. I decided to see how he was doing and made a reservation for dinner.
I didn’t think much about it when I got a reminder call confirming the date and time of my booking, but when I arrived and the hostess was dressed as a tooth fairy, I could foresee a unique dining experience. She whisked me to a table, leading the way with her magic wand.
An efficient server approached wearing a lab coat, rubber gloves, and eye protection, and secured a 2-ply waterproof bib with metal clips around my neck. She adjusted the swing arm lamp over the table, projecting 5000 watts onto my face. When I opened my mouth to protest, she snatched my tongue with a gauze pad, twisted it around, and declared me free of oral cancer.
After the unsolicited oral exam, she strapped a blood pressure cuff onto my wrist and registered an elevated reading. With the deftness of a magician, she extracted the salt shaker from the table, and casually asked for my cocktail order.
I needed something to quiet my rattled nerves, and they had several specialty drinks to consider. Should I choose the Pink Gingiva, Molar Mojito, Bloody Carie, Implant-ini, Boiler Lancer or the Long Tooth Iced Tea? Estimating high alcohol content, I chose the Implant-ini.
While I waited for my cocktail, she filled a Dixie cup with light blue, Scope flavored water, and I studied the menu to find a dinner choice that would delight my palate.
Even though the cracked tooth lobster stew sounded tempting, I decided to order bite wings as an appetizer. My mouth watered as I read the description of beef tongue cooked three ways, making this an easy choice for my entrée. And I knew I would save room for luscious blueberry buccal for dessert.
I guzzled my Implant-ini, then noticed an expanding wet spot on my bib from a steady stream of drool. That’s when I realized why there was a bowl of cotton rolls at my place setting. I stuffed a few around my gum line to absorb the spittle.
In the party room, aka ‘The Oral Cavity,’ I could see a family celebrating the birthdays of a woman and her grandson. Suddenly a troop of servers converged bearing a gold crown for her, and head-gear for little Johnny, singing “Happy Birthday and brush a while. Shiny teeth make a happy smile!” I was deeply moved, and mumbled: “Inna na’ nie?”
The food was delicious and I scheduled a six-month reservation for my next dinner. As I departed, I stopped at the bar and took a few hits of nitrous oxide. I’m not sure, but it’s possible I laughed harder than you are right now, reading this useless pulp.
My laughter was short-lived as I lost a filling on the way home, while chewing the complementary taffy distributed to all dinner guests. Lucky for me the dental office contact information was on the wrapper.
What do you think the future holds for this dentist and his restaurant business? I envision this place being so popular they will have to install night guards throughout the building. Day and night.
For more of my humor go HERE.