Charlie the Hygienist

My gaze wanders. It floats like helium to the top of the room. The slowly spinning ceiling fan. . . was that deliberate? Was the speed of its rotation planned just like the light jazz pouring in through the speakers? Maybe not, but if it was moving any faster it wouldn't have been right. It would break the hypnotism. The white florescent lights. Clean and white. Florescent and white. Clean and bright. The overhead lamp by contrast is yellow and harsh; it blinds slightly, diverting my gaze. The window is all blue skies. I was hoping for tree tops - there are other windows here with green leafy tree tops. Relaxed, I close my eyes for a minute and listen to the sound of metal scrapping bone.

Charlie the Hygienist is like a walking ad for good dental hygiene. His smile is as white as his freshly bleached scrubs. He probably spends his down time flossing and polishing and whitening just for fun. He makes just the right amount of small talk and says comforting things like "Your not bleeding as much as usual" and "OK you can spit now." Because of this we have recommended him to many of our friends. He is just as deliberate as the spell binding ceiling fan, the flowing jazz music and the framed blue skies.

I have slipped into a sort of dental coma. Charlie is raising the chair and my head is swimming in a fog as it returns to its full upright position. Man was not meant to be suspended at such angles for extended periods of time. I feel like I have just been raised from the dead. I know where I am but it take a minute. I'm swishing mouth wash and rinsing before I feel fully free from the spell that has been cast upon me. The Hygienist's hypnotism is over. Couldn't they have kept me under until after I paid the bill?