A comic tale of a dental specialist whose life’s getting colder by the day and his luck doesn’t seems to get any better either!
As a dentist, I’ve seen it all. The sweaty palms, the nervous smiles, the occasional “accidental” drool on the chair (don’t even ask). But recently, I’ve noticed a new trend. The complaints about the coldness. I wonder if any other dentist near me has faced similar issues at their clinics.
And I’m not talking about the cold air that comes from opening the door when someone enters. Oh no, this was a different kind of cold. My patients, bless their hearts, had turned into human popsicles.
“Oh, Dr. Patterson,” Mrs. Greenfield said last Tuesday, shaking as if she had just come from the North Pole, “I don’t mean to complain, but… it’s freezing in here. Do you have the Arctic circulating in the vents?”
I was trying to focus on her wisdom teeth, but her chattering teeth kept distracting me. I took a deep breath, adjusting the temperature on the wall, but it didn’t help. It was like someone had opened a window to the great outdoors, but instead of fresh air, it was just cold. And it wasn’t just Mrs. Greenfield. Every patient, from Mr. “I’ll never need a filling again” Roberts to little Timmy who was only getting a routine cleaning—everyone complained about the cold.
I decided to do something about it. As any good professional would, I figured I could solve this problem like I solve everything—by throwing money at it.
The Flooring Disaster
I started with the flooring. It was the obvious place to begin. The tiles in my waiting room had always felt like they were covered in a layer of frost. Maybe it was the fact that they looked like they were pulled out of an igloo showroom. So, I marched down to the plywood manufacturer.
“Hello!” I said, entering the warehouse, my enthusiasm probably startling the poor guy behind the counter. “I need new flooring. Something warm. Cozy. Maybe with a little ‘hug’ to it?”
The salesman blinked at me. “A hug?”
“Yeah, like something that makes you feel like you’re stepping onto a fluffy marshmallow. Not something that makes you feel like you’re walking through a freezer.”
He stared at me for a long moment before pointing to a section of warm-colored plywood. “This should do it. It’s called ‘Maple Hug.’”
“Perfect!” I said, clapping my hands together like I had just discovered fire. “I’ll take 500 square feet of that. And get it delivered, pronto!”
The Boiler Conundrum
Next up: the heating. I called up a boiler manufacturer, because apparently, the heater in my clinic wasn’t so much heating as it was sighing gently at the thought of doing any work.
“Hi there!” I said, all business. “I need a new boiler. Something that will turn my clinic into a toasty furnace of warmth.”
The voice on the other end cleared its throat. “Sir, our top model can heat up to 10,000 square feet. Are you sure your clinic needs that much power?”
“Well, I’m not trying to roast marshmallows or anything, but if you could make it feel like a cozy cabin in the mountains, that’d be perfect.”
There was a pause. “Are you… referring to a mountain cabin in the middle of a snowstorm?”
“Exactly!” I said. “But without the snow.”
They agreed to send someone out to evaluate the situation, and I was feeling like a winter-warrior who had just discovered the secret to warmth.
The Vacation Plan
Now that the flooring and heating were sorted, I decided it was time to give myself a break. I hadn’t taken a proper vacation in years. My plan? A two-week getaway to a tropical paradise. I needed to relax, maybe sip a cocktail with an umbrella in it, and finally not hear the sound of chattering teeth for once.
I booked the flights, packed my sunscreen, and even set up my out-of-office email with the perfect message: “Dr. Patterson is currently sunning himself on a beach, so please direct all dental emergencies to… someone else.”
Then, like the world loves to do when you’ve made plans, I got an email.
Your visa application has been declined.
I stared at the screen. “What?!” I shouted, startling the receptionist and sending her coffee spilling everywhere.
A quick call to the visa consultant confirmed my fears. “Sorry, Dr. Patterson. Your visa was denied. Something about missing documents. You didn’t submit your proof of finances.”
“What?” I barked. “Do you think I’m trying to sneak in and open a dentist office on the beach? I just want to relax!”
The consultant, not missing a beat, said, “Well, we could reapply, but it’ll take some time.”
I sighed, my tropical dreams evaporating faster than the last drop of a piña colada. “Fine,” I muttered. “Reapply. But make it quick. I need warmth in my life. The kind of warmth that doesn’t come from a patient’s breath.”
Stuck like the old door in the barn
So, here I am now—still in my cold clinic, surrounded by plywood that hasn’t arrived, and a boiler that’s still on order. My vacation plans? Postponed. My patients? Still complaining about the cold.
But at least, when I look at the heating system that’s yet to be installed, I can find comfort in one thing: at least they can’t complain about the lack of warmth once I get that Maple Hug flooring in place.
As for me? Well, I’m off to get that visa sorted—if only I can remember where I put my passport in this freezing clinic…