Written on 27 April 2019
Larry kept on putting off his dentist appointment.
He had a crack in a molar, and it was making it difficult to eat without feeling rather a lot of pain.
But every time the day approached, he'd get cold feet the night before, and he'd call the surgery to tell them to postpone it to the following week.
For the receptionist's part, she was initially pretty annoyed. The dentist was a dreary man who didn't like his day to be in any way unpredictable, so the late cancellations caused friction between the two.
But after a couple of months it became apparent that Larry was never coming in for his appointments, so the receptionist just stopped booking them in, cringing at the presumed state of Larry's mouth and promising herself that if Larry ever came in for his long awaited appointment then she would "move things around" for him.
For Larry's part, he was now in more than a spot of bother. His crack had become a gaping hole, exposing the root. Luckily, or unluckily depending on your persuasion, Larry's pal Tone had a hookup at a chemist, so he just took some pretty heavy painkillers to numb the agony.
Years went by. The receptionist informed her successor of Larry, as did that receptionist, and another. Seven in total.
The dentist sold the practice to someone, who was struck off for feeling up his sedated patients, and replaced with another dentist, who had never even heard of Larry. The receptionist of the day opting not to bother telling her. And still Larry would call once a week.
"I'm sorry, this week is no good for me. Do you mind if we do it next week?"
Larry eventually made it in for his appointment 14 years 3 months and 12 days after his initial one was booked in. He'd become addicted to morphine, and only had a handful of crooked, splintered, yellowing stumps for teeth remaining.
"Hi my name is Larry and I'm here for my appointment." The receptionist was aghast for just a moment, but gathered herself.
"Take a seat please. The dentist will be right with you."