Have you ever had an experience that was just so absurd that you had to laugh?

I have them.  Often.  Perhaps too often.  It’s beginning to make me think that maybe it is me.  Nah.

My most recent ‘what the hell is life playing at?’ Here is my most recent one, what’s yours?

I went to the dentist last week (a twice-a-year occurence – just doing my part to keep costs down and avoid preventable financial hits).  My regular hygienist was out sick.  Enter new hygienist (affectionately referred to here on in as ‘Killer.’

Killer bared her teeth, her lips pulled back into a smile that never quite reached her eyes.  That should have been my first clue to GET OUT NOW.

But, I didn’t.  I followed Killer into the room.  Like a lamb to the slaughter.  Second mistake.

I sat back, got comfy, adjusted my bib and waited for what I expected to be a mildly unpleasant but not painful time.  I was WRONG.

She wielded the waterjet pick like a pro.  A professional butcher, that is.  My lips kept getting zinged/burned.  I could taste blood, the water was spraying all over my face, I could feel drops of water running down the sides of my face and down my neck.  Flinching is usually an excellent way to indicate that something is not quite right when you’re at the dentist.  Not so for Killer.  My flinching seemed to translate to her as “game on, fucker.  This is going to hurt now.”  And she was true to her word, and as I lay in that chair the absurdity of the situation superseded the pain and discomfort and I started to laugh.  Hard.  Choking and spluttering, Killer was forced to free me from the ineffectual vacuuming tube and let me sit up.  I was laughing to hard the water threatened to come out my nose.

It was SPECTACULAR.

Killer just looked at me, unimpressed and as though wondering why she got stuck with all the unstables who came into the office.  I was kind of wondering the same thing, honestly.

Anyway, from somewhere deep I pulled some resolve and calmed myself down.  Not to say that I didn’t snort a few more laughs after the cleaning resumed, ’cause that would be a lie, but I got through it, got my ‘free’ toothbrush, toothpaste and floss, and lived to tell the tale.  And as a special bonus parting gift, two massive, raging canker sores where Killer stabbed me above the gum line.  Bitch.  Next time I should bite her finger.  ‘Cause that would totally make me puke and that would be way more inconvenient that a little bit of ill-timed laughing.

When I go back in six months, if my regular hygienist isn’t there, I’m cancelling on the spot.  And maybe pushing her face in.  But probably just cancelling – she’s not called ‘Killer’ for nothing.  Of course, I haven’t eaten anything comfortably in a week now and that increases my irritability exponentially.  So pushing someone in the face has real risk potential.  At this rate, I might actually lose a pound or two (nah, no real risk there – chocolate doesn’t require much work to eat 🙂 )

How do you handle these type of situations?  Nicely and politely eat shit and smile (like Canadians are prone to do) or aseertively and pro-actively, or do you just start throwing punches?