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Gidday. If you've ever walking into a room and had everyone in it try to get out through a small air vent, you probably know what it feels like to be a dentist. You have to be a fairly resilient sort of a character because you have to spend all day seeing people who don't want to see you. Let's just take a stereotypical dentistorial episode and give it the once over. You, the dentist, enter your surgery with considerable foreboding and sitting in the waiting room is your first patient, Mr. Jones, hiding behind a big stack of Illustrated London News, with only his feet sticking out. You put on your white backwards coat, and you go out and tell Mr. Jones that he can come in now. Then you prepare your little glass tray full of instruments and you go out and tell Mr. Jones that he can come in now. You should have a record card for every patient and so you go out and get Mr. Jones' card, you have a look at it and you tell him he can come in now. Then you go over to your nurse/receptionist and inform her that she can tell Mr. Jones that he can come in now. The patient will now look around the waiting room just in case there are some other Mr. Joneses before him who've slipped down behind the heater and, having ascertained that he's the only major contender, he will eventually shuffle into your surgery and sit down.
You can try to make conversation with him if you like. My own personal advice is to leave him alone and just sing to yourself while you look at his X-rays and mutter about his upper left five and the watch on his dorsal cusps. When you peep into his throat you'll feel the tension in his nervous system and you'll notice the perspiration roaring out of his forehead and running down into his ears, so get the repair work done as rapidly as possible or he'll short everything and blow your surgery into a less desirable area.
Once you've laid your cement you will have to leave him there until it dries, with his mouth open and the little bilge pump on overdrive. If you hide around the corner during this period you'll notice that he does things like trying to line his feet up with the new car park building, and inspecting your ceiling as if he's thinking of putting one in exactly the same at his place, or moving his head up and down so that the aeroplanes fly along in-between the slats in the Venetian blinds. The fellow's obviously a lunatic and you should get him out of your surgery as soon as possible. That's the trouble with dentistry, you meet a very strange class of person.