Monday I go to get an implant to replace my old ham tooth. The procedure isn't a big deal, but I do have to go under. As I understand it, that is mostly to spare me the irritation of the drills and the indignity of spending an hour with my mouth wedged open and the oral surgeon pressing his hand against my face for leverage. So somebody--Eric--must stick around to drive my woozy, drooling ass home.
Festivities start at eight in the morning. That's a reasonable time for oral surgery, but for bartenders it's pretty much in the middle of the night. I was trying to make it sound less unpleasant, so I reminded Eric that at least he didn't have to work that night and could just go back to bed after we got home. Better yet, I said, he could sleep in the waiting room while I had my tooth done.
In response, he told me a story, and he told it so much better than I could that I had him repeat it to me when we got home so I could write it down. The story is this:
Do you remember what happened the last time I had to wait for you to be done with surgery early in the morning?* The chairs in the waiting room were really comfortable, they were reclining chairs. So I fell asleep instantly, and at first there was nobody else in the waiting room, it was just me.
So I was asleep for a while and I woke myself up by farting and I was like, “Huhhh!” and I snapped awake and looked around and the waiting room was full. And everyone was staring at me, rather disapprovingly. I think I had been farting a lot. So don’t fall asleep if you have gas in a waiting room because it’s bad. Although at the time I was so tired I didn’t really care.
So Eric will be sitting awake in the most uncomfortable chair he can find come Monday morning, and god knows what will happen to me. Wish us both luck.
*I did not, so I laughed until I cried when I heard this.