A few days ago, as I was sitting in the dentist's chair having a root canal
done, some comical thoughts came to mind. Before I go on with these
thoughts, let me explain that this was my third trip in two weeks to the
endodontist for the same tooth problem. It just seemed like nothing was
working for me.
By the second visit, the dentist, or endodontist as he would prefer to be
called, and I began to bond. We talked about our families, some of our
interests, and the always-asked question, "What do you do for a living?"
also came up. I don't normally like to even get started on that subject
because most people just don't have a clue. Unfortunately I let the cat
out of the bag and told "Doc" that I played poker for a living. Yes, there
are millions of poker players in this country, but that's like saying
because millions of people have video cameras, they also understand
the movie or television business.
It seems "Doc" plays in a nickel, dime and quarter poker game. He
admits he's not very good but he says he would like to learn to play
better. So now that Doc knows what I do for a living, it is just natural
that he would have some of those "questions" for me.
About this point, I sensed that I had made a big error in judgement. I
should have known better than to introduce the subject of poker to the
Doc.
Doc and I had by now settled into a routine. He would give the dentist
command -- you all remember -- "Open. Wide. Wider. Good!" Then this
man of six foot two, who's hands are quite large, would proceed to stick
both of those humongous hands into my mouth. Okay, I understand
that's his job, and even though I'm not having fun, the procedure has to
be done. What follows is the funny part. Doc, feverishly working on my
tooth with both his hands in my mouth, starts asking me about poker.
Poker, I'm thinking. You want to know about playing poker for a living?
You got both of them big paws in my mouth and you want me to tell you
about poker. Have you ever tried to explain the workings of a poker
tournament, while some large person has got both hands in your mouth
and he's smothering you to death? It was amazing that he expected me
to tell him how a poker tournament works, at that particular time. I
vowed at that moment, never to tell anyone fixing my teeth, or working
on any other part of my body, that I played poker for a living. From now
on, I thought, I'm just a retired contractor.
I soon found out that good dentists can work on 2 or 3 patients at the
same time. It was in between the comings and the goings of my dentist
that another of my revelations came to me. I realized that sometimes
playing poker is like going to the dentist.
As I sat there with my mouth full of gauze, tubes and who knows what
else and waited for his next visit into my room, I got the same feeling
that I've had hundreds of times at the clubs. You know, when you are
sitting there for hours and hours with that lonely, tortured feeling, you're
catching no cards, hand after hand -- and always thinking this must be
what hell is like. And although no one's got his hand in your mouth, you
realize that they've got their hands firmly placed in your pocket, and just
like the dentist's hands, the other players hands just keep going in and
out of your pocket. Sometimes, it wouldn't even surprise me to hear
them say exactly what the dentist says, "Open. Wide. Wider. Good!"
As I sat there, I realized how many times I've sat in a poker game and
thought my luck would never change. Then all of a sudden, I would pick
up a few hands and all the pain and suffering would be gone.
I am happy to say, just like in poker, things did change in the dentist
chair and eventually Doc stuck his hands in my mouth for the last time,
and was finally finished with me. Later that night, when my pain had
gone away, I reflected on the whole ordeal. I decided I would play my
hand a little differently the next time I went to the dentist. I think my
approach will be to sit down in the chair, look up at the man, and make
this announcement: "I am a retired school crossing guard. I am an
orphan. I am unmarried. I have no friends. I have no hobbies and I have
no interests.
For what it's worth …
done, some comical thoughts came to mind. Before I go on with these
thoughts, let me explain that this was my third trip in two weeks to the
endodontist for the same tooth problem. It just seemed like nothing was
working for me.
By the second visit, the dentist, or endodontist as he would prefer to be
called, and I began to bond. We talked about our families, some of our
interests, and the always-asked question, "What do you do for a living?"
also came up. I don't normally like to even get started on that subject
because most people just don't have a clue. Unfortunately I let the cat
out of the bag and told "Doc" that I played poker for a living. Yes, there
are millions of poker players in this country, but that's like saying
because millions of people have video cameras, they also understand
the movie or television business.
It seems "Doc" plays in a nickel, dime and quarter poker game. He
admits he's not very good but he says he would like to learn to play
better. So now that Doc knows what I do for a living, it is just natural
that he would have some of those "questions" for me.
About this point, I sensed that I had made a big error in judgement. I
should have known better than to introduce the subject of poker to the
Doc.
Doc and I had by now settled into a routine. He would give the dentist
command -- you all remember -- "Open. Wide. Wider. Good!" Then this
man of six foot two, who's hands are quite large, would proceed to stick
both of those humongous hands into my mouth. Okay, I understand
that's his job, and even though I'm not having fun, the procedure has to
be done. What follows is the funny part. Doc, feverishly working on my
tooth with both his hands in my mouth, starts asking me about poker.
Poker, I'm thinking. You want to know about playing poker for a living?
You got both of them big paws in my mouth and you want me to tell you
about poker. Have you ever tried to explain the workings of a poker
tournament, while some large person has got both hands in your mouth
and he's smothering you to death? It was amazing that he expected me
to tell him how a poker tournament works, at that particular time. I
vowed at that moment, never to tell anyone fixing my teeth, or working
on any other part of my body, that I played poker for a living. From now
on, I thought, I'm just a retired contractor.
I soon found out that good dentists can work on 2 or 3 patients at the
same time. It was in between the comings and the goings of my dentist
that another of my revelations came to me. I realized that sometimes
playing poker is like going to the dentist.
As I sat there with my mouth full of gauze, tubes and who knows what
else and waited for his next visit into my room, I got the same feeling
that I've had hundreds of times at the clubs. You know, when you are
sitting there for hours and hours with that lonely, tortured feeling, you're
catching no cards, hand after hand -- and always thinking this must be
what hell is like. And although no one's got his hand in your mouth, you
realize that they've got their hands firmly placed in your pocket, and just
like the dentist's hands, the other players hands just keep going in and
out of your pocket. Sometimes, it wouldn't even surprise me to hear
them say exactly what the dentist says, "Open. Wide. Wider. Good!"
As I sat there, I realized how many times I've sat in a poker game and
thought my luck would never change. Then all of a sudden, I would pick
up a few hands and all the pain and suffering would be gone.
I am happy to say, just like in poker, things did change in the dentist
chair and eventually Doc stuck his hands in my mouth for the last time,
and was finally finished with me. Later that night, when my pain had
gone away, I reflected on the whole ordeal. I decided I would play my
hand a little differently the next time I went to the dentist. I think my
approach will be to sit down in the chair, look up at the man, and make
this announcement: "I am a retired school crossing guard. I am an
orphan. I am unmarried. I have no friends. I have no hobbies and I have
no interests.
For what it's worth …
Open - Wide
By Vince Burgio
By Vince Burgio
