A Trip To The Dentist
As booths go, the one reminding you that the Dentist is waiting for you is quite cozy. The Booth is both orange and orange at the same time, much like a sunset, or a scrumptious clementine orange on a picture of a scrumptious clementine orange. In reality, if you would spare a few moments to take a closer look at the Booth, it's mainly a table with an orange-orange tablecloth and a sign with a nearly illegible scrawl, but at first glance it's very humble and comfortable. Tucked next to the Booth is a --
Oh come now. Didn't you read about the Narrator? Don't you remember the Part about unnecessary Capitalization? If you keep on with this, something is going to happen, and you know it as well as I do. In fact, you might know it better than I do -- I'm sure Something previous has happened involving you and your superfluous Capitalization. But you probably won't listen, will you? You'll just keep on Capitalizing everything you think about. In fact, you've probably named these Capitalized thoughts Thoughts. Of all things!
Tucked next to the Booth (and I shan't forgive you) is a small chair you could imagine in a color-challenged grandmother's house. You sit in it to wait and find it cushy and welcoming, as if your behind is receiving a hug. On top of it is a small metal number dispenser. A paper ticket with the numeral 243 is poking out, and out of pity you take it. You fiddle with the Ticket while waiting for the Dentist. You can't quite imagine where he would come from: the tent is considerably small and definitely a single room, leaving the Dentist nowhere to emerge except for the door. Which would make no sense; you remember a sign over the tent's entrance reading 'THE DENTIST IS IN' in the same rushed hand as the words THE DENTIST IS WAITING FOR YOU that decorate the Booth.
So, you wait.
You ring the little dome-shaped bell you see too often in doctor's offices. In fact, you ring it three times. There's no one there to annoy, anyways, so you ring it a few more times.
"Excuse me, I think you're hurting my bell!"
Oh come now. Didn't you read about the Narrator? Don't you remember the Part about unnecessary Capitalization? If you keep on with this, something is going to happen, and you know it as well as I do. In fact, you might know it better than I do -- I'm sure Something previous has happened involving you and your superfluous Capitalization. But you probably won't listen, will you? You'll just keep on Capitalizing everything you think about. In fact, you've probably named these Capitalized thoughts Thoughts. Of all things!
Tucked next to the Booth (and I shan't forgive you) is a small chair you could imagine in a color-challenged grandmother's house. You sit in it to wait and find it cushy and welcoming, as if your behind is receiving a hug. On top of it is a small metal number dispenser. A paper ticket with the numeral 243 is poking out, and out of pity you take it. You fiddle with the Ticket while waiting for the Dentist. You can't quite imagine where he would come from: the tent is considerably small and definitely a single room, leaving the Dentist nowhere to emerge except for the door. Which would make no sense; you remember a sign over the tent's entrance reading 'THE DENTIST IS IN' in the same rushed hand as the words THE DENTIST IS WAITING FOR YOU that decorate the Booth.
So, you wait.
You ring the little dome-shaped bell you see too often in doctor's offices. In fact, you ring it three times. There's no one there to annoy, anyways, so you ring it a few more times.
"Excuse me, I think you're hurting my bell!"