Dunter Does Dentine
And examines oral mucosa
“Are you here to see the denter?” I politely enquired of the man seated next to me.
“Denter? I’m here to visit Doctor Dunter.” The man appeared confused.
I laughed. “It’s Denter — it’s Denter Dunter!” I pointed to the sign on the wall. “See, DR Dunter.”
“DR stands for doctor!” insisted the man.
“Impossible! I screeched. “Doctors practice medicine. Dentists aren’t MDs, they do dentition!” I smiled my superiority widely. “Thus, Denter Dunter!”
“Bullshit!” The man furiously waved his hand to attract attention.
Mucosa, the receptionist, gazed at him with disinterest and checked her computer screen. Standing, she nodded, still ignoring the semaphore operator sitting next to me.
“Max Molar? Denter Dunter will see you now!”
I threw the other bloke a snide look and followed Oral Mucosa to cubicle thirteen.
A white-coated woman met us at the entrance.
“Ah, Denter Dunter,” I greeted.
“Dental Assistant, Dentine,” she corrected.
“Come in! Come in!” bellowed an enthusiastic chap in blood-stained scrubs.
“Thanks for being on time, Maxillary. Dentine, show Mr Molar to the chair.”
The denter waited for a dribble bib to be placed around my neck then prized open my mouth. “Hahaha,” he laughed. “You should’ve come earlier.”
“Why?” I slobbered around packed cotton wool. “My teeth that bad?”
“Hell, yeah,” sniggered Dunter, “but I was referring to the laughing gas orgy we were having with the high-speed drill, and Oral before you arrived on time.”
“Cylinder’s empty,” cackled Dentine. “Dunter gets the DTs when there’s no gas — shakes like shit!”
“Max won’t need gas,” informed the denter.
“No cavities?” I enquired, hopefully.
“Your gums will soon be full of ‘em,” giggled Dunter as he smacked me over the head with the cylinder.
“Dentine, forceps, please!”
