My current dentist looks like Nick Hancock.
When I was about nine I got two abscesses on opposite sides of my mouth. After a couple of days of soup and soggy cornflakes I went to the dentist, and she said "The roots are infected, I'm afraid they'll have to come out." So she gave me a shot of anaesthetic on each side, and started pulling. Only there was one small problem: if you have an abscess, anaesthetic doesn't tend to work. So, ignoring my screams, she braced her leg on the chair and yelled at me to "think of nice things! Think of the Christmas Day Kitten!" (a really depressing picture book about a cat who gives birth and then dies). The holes then bled for about five hours.

I also have a false corner on one of my front teeth, caused by falling off my mum's bike at a similar age. Occasionally it drops off and I look like I've been in a fight. This happened last summer two days before I was due to go to Italy on holiday. And the day after was a fucking Bank Holiday. First thing Tuesday morning I was in the dentist's waiting room with a thick book, fully expecting to be there all day. About ten minutes later they told me "Your dentist is on holiday, but Mr Randomdentist can see you...". I went upstairs and told him what I needed doing:
Dentist: I see. Does it bother you cosmetically?
Me: Uh, just a bit. I'm going on holiday in 15 hours and I really need it doing.
Dentist: Ah yes, I can see why. Where are you going? *poke*
Me: Isshaly.
Dentist: Can't have you scaring off all those nice Italian men...
Me: *eyeroll, as unable to respond*.
So glad he's not my dentist, even if he did fix it.
( Maladicta, Sat 4 Nov 2006, 1:03, Reply)