At the dentist

At the dentist - Frank Ries

Whenever I go see my dentist or any doctor, I like being seated and waiting. I honestly do not mind waiting longer to be seen by the doctor. I know, you must be thinking that I am a sort of lunatic. What type of weirdo likes to wait, when everyone else has things to do?

Well, this weirdo here likes waiting for the simple reason that it allows me to meet other people and discover their stories. And if that earlier statement was not worrying enough, now for sure you probably think I am a sort of creep. Not really, I would dare to say, in my defense.

I like talking to people and listening to them. From a young age I noted that people feel at ease in my presence. Because I am a good listener, they tend to tell me a lot of things. Thus, whenever and wherever I go, people like talking to me and I enjoy it. It gives me a break from my own thoughts.

By having this type of chats with random strangers I learnt a great deal of incredible stories. I wish I had the talent to put at least some of them on paper for the readers to enjoy it as well. Unfortunately, writing is not one of my greatest skills. Maybe in another lifetime, I will get better at it. For now, I must stick with my numbers.

Today I was scheduled for a Dental surgery Boisbriand at 3 P.M. Although I got there on time, I still to wait half an hour. Obviously, I did not mind. I never do. When I entered the clinic, there was no one in the waiting area. Two minutes later, a man walked in. He must have been in his early fifties. He greeted me and the receptionist. She took his name and invited him to have a seat.

He chose to sit on the opposite side of the room. I looked at him and smiled. He smiled back and started the conversation by revealing that it was his first visit to a dentist in more than twenty years. I was astonished. The quick look I had a his smile showed he had nice white teeth. For a second I wondered if he was having dentures.

Seeing that I was intrigued, he continued his story. He was born in Iraq and immigrated to Sweden in his twenties. He had had a harsh life in his homeland during the regime. The poor guy was the only survivor from his family. He had lived in Sweden for ten years and worked as a translator in a refugee’s camp. Then moved to Canada and had the misfortune to lose two of his fingers and became disabled.

Isn’t amazing how many things you can learn about someone in thirty minutes?