Did you know that in my entire, illustrious career as a blogger I've never been "tagged" for a meme? Could it be that I talk about myself often enough to sate anyone's potential appetite? Probably.
Still, I'm throwing caution to the wind in an act of total disregard for your tolerance levels and creating my very own meme. (Am I right to assume the origin of "meme" was "Me! Me!"? 'Cause if not, somebody really should explain it to me.) It may be the shortest in history, as it consists of only one question:
If you were somehow put on the spot and thrown up on stage at a comedy club, what would your opening act or story be? (Please tell me I'm not the only one who watches the Comedy channel and thinks, "I could beat that!" from time to time.)
Here's mine:
[Insert "you're a great audience" stuff here]
"I used to like going to the dentist. I never hated it the way some people do. I did think it was weird that the dentist used to give out candy to you afterward - remember that? - like he was insuring a return visit or something? Did you know they don't do that anymore? Now they give you something lame, like stickers. Something you can't eat.
But anyway, back to me. So I was fine with going to the dentist up until I had to have some work done on one of my back molars in college. I was in college, not the molar. The dental hygienist gets me all set up and then the dentist comes in to numb my gums. He pulls out that giant syringe/needle gun thingie. How horrifying is that thing? But I'm cool. I've had my gums numbed before. So he sticks me a few times, saying, "You're going to feel a little sting." I guess "I'm inserting a hornet's nest into your mouth now" just doesn't sound as soothing.
The medication starts to take effect and he and the hygienist go about constructing a "dental dam" around the tooth in question. Have any of you heard of this before? The only other time I'd heard the term "dental dam" was in a sex scare - I mean sex "education" class in high school. Apparently, a dental dam is a plastic barrier that protects all the surrounding teeth and gums from the heinous acts about to be performed.
Unfortunately for me, my teeth are really tightly spaced. And in order to set up this dental dam, the hygienist and dentist have to shove this rubbery plastic down between my teeth. So they're both standing, and sweating, and cursing as they use floss and sharp metal instruments to force a sheet of rubber between my teeth.
About this time I start to notice that I'm shaking pretty badly. I raise one of my hands to show the hygienist what's up. You know, in case that's important or something. She glances over and explains, under heavy panting, that the numbing agent is a molecule that's very similar to adrenaline, and that many people have similar reactions to it as they do to horrifying, stressful situations.
Now, I've been a sprinter most of my life, and I'm pretty familiar with adrenaline and what it can do to me say, right before the starters pistol goes off. So in my mind I'm thinking, "Whooo, I hope I don't have to pee like I do right before... hey, wait a minute..."
Suddenly my bladder has swollen instantaneously to the size of a twin air mattress. Meanwhile, the Marquis de Sade and his whipping girl have managed to secure the rubber sheet around my tooth, to which they've attached three metal rods to hold the structure open. Basically, I have a small pup tent pitched in my mouth. The whole process has taken over forty minutes.
Now, I should tell you that my dentist's office is in a corporate office complex. There are offices of all sorts in his building, which is not limited to the medical arts by any means. You'll see why this is important in a minute.
As you might imagine, it is difficult to talk with a rubber pup tent pitched in one's mouth. So I raised my quivering hand again and then made motions around my abdomen while I grunted.
"You have to go to the bathroom?" asks whipping girl.
"MMMM HMMMM." I say, shamed because there is obvious disappointment on their face.
"Well, we can't undo all of this," says the Marquis, exasperated.
"We don't have a bathroom in the office," says whipping girl.
I frown, confused.
"The nearest one is down the hall near the elevators."
At this point, I must have looked panicked. "Can you wait?" they ask in unison.
I ponder it for a moment and my bladder quickly responds, "NNNN NNN."
"Well here, take this." says the whipping girl as she hands me a solitary brown paper towel.
They help me out of the chair and I take my piteous paper towel with me, attempting to hide my face Elephant Man-style. I open the door and peer down the hallway. It is a LONG hallway. But the coast seems to be clear so I begin my journey, hunched over from fear of peeing my pants, with my hand masking the architectural project going on in my mouth.
I count each door I pass as a small victory. I'm nearing the giant glass and granite vestibule of the office building when I hear a noise that struck fear into my very soul: the fire alarm.
I panic. I turn this way and that. "Maybe everyone will ignore it," my mind argues. And then, "Shit, what if there really is a fire?!" And finally, "Fuck it, I have to pee!!"
Just then, office doors begin opening. Business men and women of every stripe begin streaming out of their offices. I duck and speedwalk into the main vestibule, and finally spot the sign for the women's room.
I sigh a big sigh of relief and let down my sad little paper towel shield when I step into the bathroom. But then I hear another noise. And much to my horror, I see that I am not alone. A woman and her small daughter are there, hands dripping at the sink as they stare in horror at my gaping mouth and the rubber pup tent.
"UNnnggh!" I say, Quasimodo-style, as I cover my mouth and shuffle into the stall.
"Mommy, what's wrong with..." I hear as they flee.
But the relief of peeing is so great that I actually shudder, still twitching like a leaf from the drugs. I make my way back to the dentist's chair in relative peace, and vow to myself that I will never go to the dentist's office again after having consumed liquid of any sort. Better yet, I vow to find myself a dentist's office with its own friggin' bathroom facilities.
And next time I better get a frickin' sticker."
I don't know how the "tagging" works for memes, so feel free to tell your own comedy act here, or on your own blog (but leave a link).
