The search for a "Mystical Practice"

It’s pretty like a sparkly birthday present with a shimmering, pink bow on top.  It’s content like a satisfied meal that’s digesting comfortably in your belly.  It’s wonderful like a Newfoundland puppy that just tried to slobber up your saliva then plopped down in your lap to rest.  Awww, puppy.

I live in a dreamworld. I fantasize about working with a practice that consists of pure, employment bliss. This magical place is imbedded in my brain and only I know what’s in it and where it’s headed… but I invite you on my journey.  Come... join in my delusion.

The hunt began on the path of hope; others have called it craigslist.  Day after day, time and time again.The pursuit revealed nothing.  Emptiness filled my hours. I noticed an obscurity, a black aura around me… a dark void, if you will.  I was unable to see.  I cannot view the world around me.  I am blind!  But, wait… a voice…  I hear a male voice amidst the blackness.

“Why are you writing in the dark, honey?  Turn on the light, woman.”

Light!  Brightness!  My dim world is now an inspiration of energy-saving illumination!  Hold up… what is this on the magic screen in front of my eyes? The advertisement read like a warm hug; every word pulled me deeper into its embrace.  Somehow, it knew me:

Looking for a fortyish hygienist with brown hair, dry humor, roomy in the hips with five years RDH experience to work Monday thru Thursday in our fee-for-service practice.

You adore the intra-oral camera.  We have one in every operatory of our practice.  We are a digital radiographic office.  We know you love that.  You decide how much time is required for your prophylaxes and SRP therapy and your own hygiene assistant is here for you.  You like recommending many oral care products.  We have them all. We use lasers. Would you like to receive certification?  We’ll get you certified on how to use them and we will pay for your class.

Half of your monthly Metra train transportation is paid for by our practice.  We’re fond of fart jokes and enjoy discussing the proper way of preparing rhubarb in a custard flan medium.  Submitting a cover letter is not necessary.  We know who you are.

Holy crap, they DO know me!

I was struck by a feeling of light-headedness.  I became sweaty and my heart was pounding with excited fury.  Pounding… still pounding… oh, my god, it’s tachycardia!  Wait… false alarm.  I’m good.

I must make contact with this beacon of hygiene possibility.  I shall meet the representatives of this dental citadel.  We will discuss.  Our minds will become a cohesive unit of squishy neurons and they will say, “You were our search.  The search is now past… for you are the one.” I am the one.

Oh, victorious day!  I will rejoice in the beams of light and happiness!  Ah!  One of my faithful supporters has come to celebrate this momentous event.  She approaches!

“Mommy, I pooped on my tutu.”

Alas, I shall revel in my hallucination of glory another day.  I now battle the beast.

Curse you, foul excrement.       

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