Overheard

The dentist, a man with silver hair and the traditional white lab coat, pulled his mask down from his face as he came out of the maze of dentist offices and into the waiting room. A teenage girl trailed behind him. He spoke to the woman sitting opposite me, clearly the girl's mother.

"We had a little problem, " he said. "Even with the novacaine, she says it still—"

"I know," said the girl's mother. "You had to give her another shot."

He started to say something, then stopped, looking puzzled. He turned to look at the teenage girl standing next to him.

"And you only did the one side so she's going to need another appointment," the mother finished.

His head bounced back in her direction like a dentist bobble head. "Um, how ..."

"She sent me a text message," the mother explained.

"From the chair?" he asked.

"Yep," said the daughter. She pulled a cell phone out of her jeans and waved it in the air.

The dentist threw up his hands. "I think it's time for me to retire."