Hygienist the Menace

As far as I know, nobody likes to go to the dentist. I remember my first experiences as a little kid, going to an old guy who I'm now sure must have been a descendant of the Marquis de Sade. The work he did really hurt, but being a first-born respecter of authority, I closed my eyes and didn't complain.
Over the years since then, I've endured the usual--cleanings, wisdom teeth extraction, fillings, crowns, a root canal. Procedures, for the most part, became less painful with the advent of numbing drops before a shot of novocaine and more flexible x-ray cards whose corners don't slice the inside of your mouth.
After moving to Rhinelander, I obviously had to find a new dentist--and I procrastinated. I had really liked Dr. Green in Menomonie, and since we still own our house in Elk Mound, I half-entertained the idea of going back to him for a check-up on one of my lawn-mowing trips over there. But instead, I acted like a grown-up and made an appointment at a local practice here.
The hygienist was pleasant and conversational as she prepped me for a cleaning. I glanced at her tray of sharp, hooked instruments and clutched the arms of the chair. I told her the usual lie that I floss daily, then she explained that in addition to her manual instruments of torture, she'd also be using an ultrasound device in the cleaning. It sounded like a drill with a high-pitched whine like a horde of mosquitoes. Then she charted my gum recession by jabbing a needle-sharp poker into the soft tissue around each tooth. I tasted blood and had to be asked twice to open wider, my jaws instinctively closing in an attempt to bite off her fingers.
After that, she enthusiastically used her hand tools to poke, prod, and scrape from tooth to tooth. She was either digging for gold or hunting for plaque from 1996. Mercifully it finally ended and she polished my teeth with some foul-tasting goop. In Menomonie I got the choice of minty or fruity goop. Foul-tasting wasn't even an option. Then came the flossing, adding just a little more blood and pain, before she announced brightly, "You're doing a good job with your teeth! All done!" Huh? Maybe that was a motivator to brush and floss 6 times a day so there would be little for her to do when I come back in 6 months.
It was the longest and most painful cleaning I can remember since childhood. She tried to make up with me by giving me a new toothbrush, toothpaste, and floss, but after my ordeal what I really wanted was a sucker. I took Ibuprofen as soon as I got in the car, then had yogurt for lunch so I wouldn't have to chew. At least she made it easier to be on a diet for a day.