Dentist Drills

I was sitting in my dentist’s waiting room on a gross chair on a beige carpet staring at a beige wall. Beige, of all colors, beige. A color that does not spark any emotion or feeling. A color that is devoid of sympathy. I mentally let out a frustrated augh, I don’t get nervous from too many things, but dentists scare me. I don’t understand why but they just do. I think it's the syringes and drills. Just augh. 

I stared at the receptionist. She was sitting behind a boring looking desk wearing boring pale blue scrubs. There was a myriad of pens sitting on the ledge; I didn’t know why she needed so many. Behind her were large pictures of people with wide, white smiles and promising before and after pictures of straight, sparkling teeth. 

But the worst, most unbearable, part of this waiting room was its lack of, literally, anything. No magazines to pass the time, no televisions to keep children entertained, just nothing. Which really did not make waiting any better. 

I think the longer I waited the more nervous I got. I mean it's just a checkout. The worst that could happen is that the dentist finds a cavity. I kept reasoning this with myself until I was calm. 

Before I could get my rant on these gross chairs started, a man came out of the dentists operating room all shaky. He was walking but looked incredibly drunk. It was probably the aesthetic right? Affecting his whole body? Suddenly, he fell to the ground with blood oozing out of the side of his head. I think I threw up a little in my mouth. 

I was really hoping that I would not have to partake in whatever procedure he had just gone through. I mean, I wouldn't… right? 

The dentist came running through the door with a horrified expression on his face, a drill still whirling in his hand. I was appalled and could hardly breathe. I guess my dentist was apparently a murderer. The receptionist jumped out of her chair and stifled a scream. The three of us stared at each other in silence for a solid minute. We were all paralyzed with fear and did not know what to do with the man, who was most probably dead right now. 

“God damn it! You’re a dentist not a lobotomist,” the receptionist shrieked. 

“I can explain,” he looked over nervously at the receptionist and then at me. “I didn’t mean to kill him. I was just using the drill to clean his mouth but then he just moved and the drill just...” he closed his eyes and looked away. “It just went through his head.” AUGHHHH I mentally screamed, this whole thing was like something out of a horror movie. This was not happening to me. I had probably dozed off in that stupidly boring waiting room and this was a really, really bad dream. 

“What are we going to do with,” the receptionist looked at the dead body in disgust and shock, “him.” 

“I have no idea,” he said. 

“We are going to get in so much trouble for this,” the receptionist whispered, “we have to hide him, bury him, something.” 

The receptionist and the dentist looked at me, “I won’t tell,” I said softly. Who knew what these guys would do to me if I told anyone, the last thing I wanted was a drill through my own head. 

“Alright there are some flowers in the front, we could bury him there,” the desist suggested. 

The receptionist and I started at him aghast. Were there no other suitable patches of dirt around. It would be totally not suspicious to see three adults digging up a flowerbed in front of a dental clinic and then proceeding to bury a body there. 

“How about we go into the woods off of the highway,” I said, “if anyone asks why he is not moving, we’ll just tell them we gave him too much anesthetic.”

The dentist and the receptionist looked at me with repulsed approval. “We have to clean up all the blood first,” the receptionist said. We all shared a breath of relief when we saw that no blood had stained the beige carpet. 

“Alright, I’ll get his head patched up so no more blood is lost, not that that’ll help him,” the dentist sighed. “You two could clean up the blood.”

A brutal fifteen minutes later, the floors were squeaky clean and the clinic reeked of disinfectant. The receptionist held the arms of the dead man and the dentist held his legs. I walked ahead of them to make sure no one saw us. 

Eventually, we made our way to my car. I opened up the trunk and the dentist and receptionist shoved him in. We stopped by my house to grab a shovel; it was 2:30 pm on a Tuesday, but I still hoped no one saw us. 

The three of us spent the car ride in silence, not that we had anything to talk about. I mean, other than the corpse in the back of our car. I would have never guessed the rationality of my fear of dentists. Looks like I hadn’t been afraid for nothing. 

Half an hour later, I pulled over at the side of the highway and we got out of the car. After making sure the coast was clear, we dragged the man into the thicket of trees. 

We took turns digging, making sure the hole was deep enough. Then we dug some more, just in case. We wouldn’t want anyone to stumble upon this corpse. I knew I was never going to go hiking in the woods ever again. God knows what I would find augh.  

We dropped the corpse in and covered him up with dirt. Then we covered up the dirt with some branches and leaves that were nearby, hoping that the freshly dug patch of dirt would not be too recognizable. 

We dusted off our hands and trudged back to my car.