The waiting area reminded me of Nuevo Laredo, Mexico.
Cracked, checkered tiles.
Plastic laundromat chairs.
Telenovelas screaming from the TV.
The only difference was that everyone had all of their legs.
My dentist was from Iran and spoke in a soothing but mumbling cadence, like drool-warm Persian decaf on the ears. I was told I needed a new filling and this sort of thing. We made a conversation while the local anesthetic considered my mouth.
"So what do you do?"
"I'm a dentist. What do you do?"
I told him I had been a courier for the last 6 years, but it sounded like "curator."
"Oh, for the museum?"
I had to correct him and that was a drag. He thought I was a distinguished museum curator, with a fanciful home full of groovy artifacts, and German key parties and a fax machine. In reality I'm a bike messenger with a messy apartment full of weird props, and scars from spills, and a Kinko's nearby. To compensate for this dip in status, I told him I also teach.
"What do you teach?"
"Comedy."
Really, I teach improv. But that might require an explanation so it's easier to say "comedy."
Or is it?
My dentist begins to tell me a joke involving Sofia Loren, Madonna and the Sahara Pipeline. It was hard to tell when the joke had finished but I managed a courtesy laugh, though I laughed hardest at the first mention of Sofia Loren.
"You have to be on top of current events to do comedy," my dentist informed me. "Did you hear about the massacre in Virginia?"
Yesterday a student at Virginia Tech opened fire and killed 32 people before killing himself. I told him I had heard about it and waited, unsure if he wanted me to make a joke about it. I thought I'd play it safe and bust out an old space shuttle Challenger one-liner but he continued.
"I was in the Iran revolution in 1979. Since they elected that asshole one of my students committed suicide."
Whoa. This was getting angry and sad. And we hadn't even begun drilling. I started to drift.
"Is my talking putting you to sleep? Don't fall asleep."
Drills, suction, probes, and lasers* obscured my dentist's words during the procedure. Which is too bad. I could have gotten some fresh material for the jokes that I say during the improv.
"Improvisation. You have to be ready for anything," my dentist informed me.
As per his request, I handed him cash for his work. But hadn't I seen his assistant wandering the premises?
"No, she's busy."
He came back with my change and asked if I would be performing soon. I mentioned that I had a ridiculous dancing audition for Hallmark in the afternoon.
"You have a lot of Jewish people in your business, right?"
I said I had a lot of Jewish friends, yes, and there are also a lot of Catholics in Chicago who do comedy.
"Are you Catholic?"
"No. I'm from Iran. Are you Catholic?"
I told him I had been raised that way but now I am "nothing." I should have said Agnostic or Atheist or something. That I was nothing seemed to upset him.
"You must have a relationship with your Creator. Whoever that may be." My dentist pointed skyward.
I made the case that I was in charge of my own destiny and pointed a big thumb at my chest.
Then I said, "Right?"
"We'll see you on the 23rd."
Yes, the 23rd year from now.
No, I'll be back. He has to chop up my enamel next week or something. Maybe by then I'll figure out who my Curator is. I mean Creator.
*Yeah, man. Lasers!!!
No comments:
Post a Comment