Hawaii Marine, October 30, 2015

Lifestyle

HAWAII MARINE B-2 • OCTOBER 30, 2015

Prices: All shows are $5 for adults and $3.25 for children. All 3-D shows are $8 for adults and $6 for children. For ticket pricing, the base theater box offi ce defi nes an adult as a patron 12 years and older and defi nes a child as a patron from 6 to 11 years old. Children 5 and younger are admitted free of charge. Parents must purchase tickets for R-rated movies in person at the box offi ce for children 16 and younger. Patrons must present their military identifi cation card when purchasing tickets. Call 254-7642 for details.

Today | 6:30 p.m.

Today | 9:15 p.m.

Saturday | 6:30 p.m.

Saturday | 9:15 p.m.

Sunday | 2 p.m.

Sunday | 6:30 p.m.

Wednesday | 6:30 p.m.

“Pan” PG

“The Intern” PG-13

“Hotel Transylvania 2” PG

“Sicario” R

“Pan” PG (in 3-D) PG

“Everest” PG-13

“Sicario” R

A

s you unwind reading the paper while you eat breakfast in the morning, wait at the doctor’s offi ce or ride the bus home, check out “At Ease” for some stress relief. Look no further for a funny story, a comic or a puzzle. Are you a budding journalist? Do you have some witty stories, movie reviews or insightful columns our base readers might enjoy? Email your submissions to hawaiimarineeditor@gmail.com. Please keep your submissions approximately 500 words, and make sure to include your fi rst and last name along with a title for your article. Hawaii Marine staff reviews content and edits submissions. No explicit content, graphic language or topics inappropriate for a general audience. If you have any questions, feel free to call 257-8837.

Your weekly dose of non-mandatory fun in Hawaii Marine

The extraction of the Tell-Tale Tooth

Lisa Smith Molinari

Contributing Writer

I was nervous, dreadfully nervous. True, the tooth had haunted me both day and night, but my senses were only sharpened, not destroyed. I was certainly not mad! In fact, my aware- ness was so acute as to render me excru- ciatingly sane.

So listen carefully, ye with endodon- tic woes, and hear the ghoulish story on this All Hallows’ Eve ...

Oh, the nerve of that dreaded tooth! An angry nerve, indeed. I cannot claim credit for the murderous idea; it was my dentist who suggested that I schedule a root canal.

Last Wednesday, I arrived promptly at 9:30 am in the endodontist’s waiting room. Like a snake charmer, his assis- tant led me down a narrow passage to an oxblood red vinyl chair in the sur- gical chamber, scattered with various metal instruments and machines.

Suddenly, the doctor appeared at my side like an apparition. Wearing an omi- nous surgical mask and cap, I could only see his vexing blue eyes ... which is why I didn’t notice the tiny tire iron he was wielding in his latex-sheathed hand.

“Let’s confi rm that Tooth Number Three is our culprit,” he said, before wrapping the metal instrument three times against my tender molar like he was chipping ice for his martini. The infl amed pulp shot searing daggers into

my battered nerves.

“Unghhh!” I groaned, giving him the confi rmation he needed to begin the le- thal procedure.

The doctor administered the fi rst shots of novocaine into my gums with such an angel’s touch, I was wholly unprepared for the poisoned pitchfork he thrust mercilessly into the roof of my mouth.

While the injected anesthetic seeped into my cells, the assistant - is her back slightly hunched? - scurried around the chamber, preparing me for the wretched task at hand. She lassoed Tooth Number Three with a “rubber dam” that cov- ered the rest of my mouth like a min- iature tarp. I feared I might suffocate if the Rubber of the Damned suctioned against my nervously heaving nostrils.

Finally, Assistant Hunchback jammed a doorstop between my back molars to make it impossible for me to scream.

With Tooth Number Three suffi ciently numbed, the doctor extended a monstrous mechanical arm from the wall, lowering the Hubble Space Telescope over my face. With his evil blue eye peering into the complex series of magnifying lenses, I wondered if I’d be burned alive like a helpless insect on a sidewalk.

As much as it had abused me over the last several weeks, I was not entirely convinced that Tooth Number Three should be sentenced to death. It had served me faithfully since my youth -

through braces, fi llings, unpopped ker- nels, Sugar Daddies, pistachio shells, and night grinding. Is it really necessary to strip the thing of its life-giving in- nards in such a barbaric way?

My eyes darted from Assistant Hunchback to Dr. Evil Eye, trying in vain to communicate my reluctance. But, alas, it was of no use. All I could do was lie back as they committed the dastardly deed, listening to the quicken- ing fl amenco melody oozing from the chamber’s sound system.

Assistant Hunchback passed Dr. Evil Eye a series of hideous instru- ments - probes, forceps, clamps, ex- cavators. A switch was fl ipped, and through the whir and grind of the drill, I could hear the frantic strumming of a rosewood guitar.

A puff of putrid dust rose from my hollowed molar, exposing its infl amed pulp. With the Hubble Space Telescope in my face, I could only smell the odor of household bleach and burnt fl esh, and see the glint of metal probes.

The Andulasians stamped their feet to the ricocheting guitar strings, while Dr. Evil Eye reamed bits of meat from the bloody canals. Tooth Number Three would not surrender easily. The clap- ping dancer whirled to a frenzied cre- scendo as the doctor made one last stab- bing probe deep into the root.

“Ole!” spurted from the speakers just as the last nerve ending was plucked, and the deed was done.

Nevermore will I open a bottle with my molars!

www.themeatandpotatoesofl ife.com

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