I look down at the watch tattooed on my wrist. It’s 10:00. Fuck. I look up at my wall clock to see if it is one of the two times a day that my wrist is correct. 12:20. Double fuck. Even worse. My watch is way off, and I’ve got five minutes to get to the dentist.
You see, I can’t be late for this dentist appointment. Not only did my mother leave me one dentist visit in her will, but I’m also unsure as to what exactly a dentist does. Am I in danger? Your guess is as good as mine. Most people never get to see a living dentist, so I have a duty to be a keeper of this knowledge for my descendants. Who knows when it could prove valuable.
I hop in my car and slam on the gas. Then I take my foot off the gas, put my car in drive, slam the gas again, and peel out of my garage. I need some speed, so I pull an automatic rifle out of my glove compartment and start blasting out the back windshield. Recoil is going to take me all the way. Confused? It’s called Newton’s Third Law—look it up.
I look down at the map I tattooed on my arm and realize I should probably invest in some pens. Paper too, maybe, if I want to treat myself. I also realize I’m getting close to the dentist. I close my eyes and imagine myself in the dentist’s house. It’s a green—blue—red building? In the room, there are… people? I’ve got nothing. I truly have no inclination of what a dentist is.
I don’t have time to park, so I run my car up on the sidewalk. I blast through the door and see him. The dentist. “Did you make an appointment?” It can’t be. I check my watch, in disbelief. Still 10:00. Never had a chance.
