I have recently been informed that I have a very small mouth. I guess there are a couple of reasons people get their wisdom teeth removed, but one of the main ones is that often there just isn’t enough room for them to come in properly. Apparently I fall into this category. So much so that when the oral surgeon was explaining this to me he sort of snickered and said ‘…and there’s NO WAY there’s room in YOUR mouth.’ Like he wanted to add on that it’s a good thing I also have a nose because he’s surprised that oxygen molecules can even fit in there, but was held back by his sense of professionalism. I’m pretty sure they were all talking about it after I left though.
“My god did you SEE that?!”
“I know! At first I thought it was a third nostril or something!”
The weird thing is, until Tuesday I didn’t know I was in possession of a freakishly small mouth. And you would think that is something you would intrinsically know about yourself, like how you just KNOW that you find Tom Cruise creepy, or how you just KNOW that your right leg is a little longer that the left but you still get around just fine. But I didn’t know. Until now.
Luckily I don’t really care. It’s big enough to fit massive quantities of cheese into, and that’s about all I require from a mouth.
So I was doing all this thinking about having them taken out and how I’m strangely excited for it, and it suddenly struck me how much you have to dislike being at work to actually prefer MINOR SURGERY to just sitting at your desk. I mean, there’s a risk of DEATH involved in anesthesia. Not a high risk, obviously, and not enough to really freak me out or anything, but still. I don’t ususally have to confront my own mortality from my cubicle.
All this just serves to reinforce for me one more time how glad I am that I’ve made a decision to leave here, and start doing something I can feel committed too. Because contrary to everything I’ve written here, I don’t really think of myself as a person with a terrible work ethic. I get as much satisfaction out of a job well done as the next guy. I don’t mind pitching in, rolling up my sleeves, or any of that jazz. As long as I don’t have to think outside the box. That’s where I draw the line.
So I was feeling pretty good about the whole thing, until I told the people at work that I would be out for a couple of days. They asked why, and I told them, and that’s when I got a lot of unsolicited advice and also a couple of HORROR stories involving phrases like ‘dry socket’ and ‘worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life and I once broke my shoulder’. I told them they are terrible people.
But I’m afraid the images are now seared onto my brain. Anyone have any warm fuzzy stories about having their teeth yanked out of their head? I could use one right about now…