06 February 2004
44
R. Linda:
If the truth be known about me illness, then it can be said we can blame it on the dentist's dog. I went to New Hampshire to cover the primaries. But while I was there, I had a disturbing experience (well, don't I always when I go there?). I went to a diner in Manchester, renowned for being a place where the candidates congregate to do a little "politicking" and shaking of hands. So there I went with the idea I could eat and interview at the same time.
I got meself to the place ahead of the pols and ordered a cup of coffee (no sugar, light on the cream) and a slice of cherry pie. Well, I didn't have to wait long for one of the Dems to show up because Joe Lieberman came strolling in, very cordial and smiling a toothpaste white one to warm the place up. I gulped me coffee and took off with me trusty mic to record the event.
The man next to me at the counter hollered, "Hey, don't you want your pie?"
I wanted to shout back, "Why do you want it?" but I said I'd be there in a tick and went after Senator Lieberman. Well, as you can imagine, the ice cream on me pie melted to a liquid that was unrecognisable by me return. The man sitting next to me had been replaced three times. I was powerful hungry by the time Old Joe left, so I sat me down to finish me congealed pie.
I took a few bites and admit it was the best pie I had ever eaten. Except for one thing: I bit down on a cherry pit and busted me tooth. I never had a filling in me mouth, and this was simply awful.
The next day, every hot and cold thing I ate or drank would send me howling to the roof. I asked me hotel manager for the number of a dentist because there was no way I was going back to blind Dr. Daven. He found one and made an appointment for me. I took meself off to Nashua and just about missed the place. It was a small house by the side of the road, embedded between a roast beef stand and a tent rental. I got meself inside, filled out the necessary papers, signed me life away on me insurance, and agreed to pay for any work done ahead of filing the insurance.
While sitting in the waiting room reading New Hampshire Magazine, I thought I saw a massive dark thing go past the open doorway and down the hall. But it was something I caught in the corner of me eye, and I decided I must be seeing things. I was in some pain from me broken tooth and decided I was hallucinating from the pain.
Finally, it was time to go into the office, and I found this strapping man who looked like the lead actor in CSI, William Peterson. He joked about me choppers and made these ominous sounds when he looked over the damaged molar. His assistant was busy blinding me with the overhead light, which I was sure was aimed at me eyes, not me mouth. The dentist said to me he could fix the tooth with a bit of glue and asked if I had the rest of it. He added, that the pain might be because the nerve was slightly exposed.
I took pause at that. I told him I swallowed it, and he said they could wait. When it came out, I could bring it with me, and they would put it back. I was very grossed out until I realized it was supposed to be a joke. I was wondering what kind of office this was.
He tells me, after he had his jollies that he could repair it, but I would probably need to get it crowned and have a root canal. There I be with him drilling on me tooth, when I think I be feeling kind of wet on me right thigh. For a bloody bad moment, I thought I'd lost control of me bladder when I looked down to see this colossal dog slobbering on me leg.
Now, mind you, this is near to a medical office, as one can find, and this great bloody dog is drooling on me. I tried to say something, but with a mouthful of fingers and a drill bit doing its work, I couldn't very well say a bleeding word. I tried to point, but the doc was intent on his drilling and the assistant on suctioning the spit out of me mouth.
Finally, they stopped, and I said, "There is a dog in here."
"Oh, you met Alexander the Great."
I'd say great because it was a great big black dog—a Newfoundland, I think you call them, of gigantic proportions—the biggest dog I have personally ever seen in the flesh. I don't like dogs in particular because they make me sneeze, and big ones that I don't know intimidate me, I'm sorry to admit.
Seems the thing is a regular part of the staff. He is the dentist's dog, and he doesn't think anything of the slobbering animal messing up perfectly clean and pressed trousers or shirt cuffs.
I was thinking of me dry cleaning bill, but more than that when I got up, I noticed that I smelt like the damn thing. It followed me to the desk where I wrote out a hefty check for services rendered and sidled up to me in such a way I had to pet the thing because they were all cooing, "Oooh look, Alex has a new friend."
I had already checked out of me hotel and had to go to the Highlander Inn for a rally I was covering, and I was late. Between battling the dog and the door that opened out instead of in (I found this out the hard way and still am sporting a bump on me forehead), I finally made it to me rental car. As I stepped into the darkened parking lot, I almost took a header because me foot slid on something slick and threw me off balance. Catching meself on the car handle, I looked down and could instantly smell the dog poop. I limped to the grassy area and tried the best I could to get the stuff off me shoe. I was pissed now. I got in the car, could still faintly smell it, and off I went. I got to the rally just in the nick, but it became bloody embarrassing the number of people who would suddenly sniff the air and then quickly move away. I must have smelt of dog shite and slobber!
I started to sneeze at one point (oh, did I mention I be allergic to dog hair?). Not having a Kleenex, I covered me face with me hand and inhaled the essence of DOG. That made me have a sneezing fit up the wazoo. It was not only embarrassing, it was disrupting Senator Edwards, who was trying to talk over me sneezing fits, which got worse every time I sneezed into the dog hair smell of slobber on me hands! It was bloody challenging trying to sneeze into the smelly stuff on me hands and not look like a mentally challenged individual each time, who was having a seizure of sorts. I should tell you I went to the men's room before this, and the water was off because of "temporarily frozen pipes."
I had to leave the room because the cameras were all trained on me. I think they thought I was a Republican trying to disrupt the Senator's speech.
I had that stuff on me for a day and a half! And there was no place to wash it off. Everything was closed, or the bloody pipes were frozen solid. No wonder I be sick! I could count the hives on me body Sunday. I had sixty-six of them and they all looked bigger than what Janet Jackson flashed at the Super Bowl.
Gabe
Copyright © 2004 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
If the truth be known about me illness, then it can be said we can blame it on the dentist's dog. I went to New Hampshire to cover the primaries. But while I was there, I had a disturbing experience (well, don't I always when I go there?). I went to a diner in Manchester, renowned for being a place where the candidates congregate to do a little "politicking" and shaking of hands. So there I went with the idea I could eat and interview at the same time.
I got meself to the place ahead of the pols and ordered a cup of coffee (no sugar, light on the cream) and a slice of cherry pie. Well, I didn't have to wait long for one of the Dems to show up because Joe Lieberman came strolling in, very cordial and smiling a toothpaste white one to warm the place up. I gulped me coffee and took off with me trusty mic to record the event.
The man next to me at the counter hollered, "Hey, don't you want your pie?"
I wanted to shout back, "Why do you want it?" but I said I'd be there in a tick and went after Senator Lieberman. Well, as you can imagine, the ice cream on me pie melted to a liquid that was unrecognisable by me return. The man sitting next to me had been replaced three times. I was powerful hungry by the time Old Joe left, so I sat me down to finish me congealed pie.
I took a few bites and admit it was the best pie I had ever eaten. Except for one thing: I bit down on a cherry pit and busted me tooth. I never had a filling in me mouth, and this was simply awful.
The next day, every hot and cold thing I ate or drank would send me howling to the roof. I asked me hotel manager for the number of a dentist because there was no way I was going back to blind Dr. Daven. He found one and made an appointment for me. I took meself off to Nashua and just about missed the place. It was a small house by the side of the road, embedded between a roast beef stand and a tent rental. I got meself inside, filled out the necessary papers, signed me life away on me insurance, and agreed to pay for any work done ahead of filing the insurance.
While sitting in the waiting room reading New Hampshire Magazine, I thought I saw a massive dark thing go past the open doorway and down the hall. But it was something I caught in the corner of me eye, and I decided I must be seeing things. I was in some pain from me broken tooth and decided I was hallucinating from the pain.
Finally, it was time to go into the office, and I found this strapping man who looked like the lead actor in CSI, William Peterson. He joked about me choppers and made these ominous sounds when he looked over the damaged molar. His assistant was busy blinding me with the overhead light, which I was sure was aimed at me eyes, not me mouth. The dentist said to me he could fix the tooth with a bit of glue and asked if I had the rest of it. He added, that the pain might be because the nerve was slightly exposed.
I took pause at that. I told him I swallowed it, and he said they could wait. When it came out, I could bring it with me, and they would put it back. I was very grossed out until I realized it was supposed to be a joke. I was wondering what kind of office this was.
He tells me, after he had his jollies that he could repair it, but I would probably need to get it crowned and have a root canal. There I be with him drilling on me tooth, when I think I be feeling kind of wet on me right thigh. For a bloody bad moment, I thought I'd lost control of me bladder when I looked down to see this colossal dog slobbering on me leg.
Now, mind you, this is near to a medical office, as one can find, and this great bloody dog is drooling on me. I tried to say something, but with a mouthful of fingers and a drill bit doing its work, I couldn't very well say a bleeding word. I tried to point, but the doc was intent on his drilling and the assistant on suctioning the spit out of me mouth.
Finally, they stopped, and I said, "There is a dog in here."
"Oh, you met Alexander the Great."
I'd say great because it was a great big black dog—a Newfoundland, I think you call them, of gigantic proportions—the biggest dog I have personally ever seen in the flesh. I don't like dogs in particular because they make me sneeze, and big ones that I don't know intimidate me, I'm sorry to admit.
Seems the thing is a regular part of the staff. He is the dentist's dog, and he doesn't think anything of the slobbering animal messing up perfectly clean and pressed trousers or shirt cuffs.
I was thinking of me dry cleaning bill, but more than that when I got up, I noticed that I smelt like the damn thing. It followed me to the desk where I wrote out a hefty check for services rendered and sidled up to me in such a way I had to pet the thing because they were all cooing, "Oooh look, Alex has a new friend."
I had already checked out of me hotel and had to go to the Highlander Inn for a rally I was covering, and I was late. Between battling the dog and the door that opened out instead of in (I found this out the hard way and still am sporting a bump on me forehead), I finally made it to me rental car. As I stepped into the darkened parking lot, I almost took a header because me foot slid on something slick and threw me off balance. Catching meself on the car handle, I looked down and could instantly smell the dog poop. I limped to the grassy area and tried the best I could to get the stuff off me shoe. I was pissed now. I got in the car, could still faintly smell it, and off I went. I got to the rally just in the nick, but it became bloody embarrassing the number of people who would suddenly sniff the air and then quickly move away. I must have smelt of dog shite and slobber!
I started to sneeze at one point (oh, did I mention I be allergic to dog hair?). Not having a Kleenex, I covered me face with me hand and inhaled the essence of DOG. That made me have a sneezing fit up the wazoo. It was not only embarrassing, it was disrupting Senator Edwards, who was trying to talk over me sneezing fits, which got worse every time I sneezed into the dog hair smell of slobber on me hands! It was bloody challenging trying to sneeze into the smelly stuff on me hands and not look like a mentally challenged individual each time, who was having a seizure of sorts. I should tell you I went to the men's room before this, and the water was off because of "temporarily frozen pipes."
I had to leave the room because the cameras were all trained on me. I think they thought I was a Republican trying to disrupt the Senator's speech.
I had that stuff on me for a day and a half! And there was no place to wash it off. Everything was closed, or the bloody pipes were frozen solid. No wonder I be sick! I could count the hives on me body Sunday. I had sixty-six of them and they all looked bigger than what Janet Jackson flashed at the Super Bowl.
Gabe
Copyright © 2004 All rights reserved
