The Drill

Okay, so you know what I'm going to talk about, right? Well, maybe not. I could be referring to the kind of tool used in building furniture or repairing a bookshelf. Or it could be one of those horribly loud, nasty-sounding pieces of machinery that break up the asphalt on your local thoroughfare. No, the kind of drill I am talking about is a small instrument, held in a gloved hand on the end of a white cloaked arm attached to a shoulder supporting a goggled eyed, masked face about 2 inches from your own. This drill has a terribly high-pitched squeal to it that sends shivers up and down your spine and causes your hands to clench and legs to stiffen. It begins to whine when applied to your defenseless, benumbed tooth, causing pieces of it (your tooth) to fly and water to shower your face. In the hand of a skilled artisan, it does tremendous damage first to accomplish great good in the end. Can you imagine what would happen if that little instrument was in a novice's hand? Ouch.

Perhaps there is a spiritual lesson in this somewhere. But since I can't think of one right now, I'll leave the story as is. By now you figured out that I was at the dentist today - in preparation for a permanent crown placement in a couple of weeks. I am grateful for the drill I guess - grateful for the salvation of my tooth. So why do I hate it so much?? I think it's the sound.

Have any drill stories to share?