There may well come a time in your life when you will need to have one (or more) of your wisdom teeth removed. When making the appointment, it is important to remember that, despite the frisson of terror this impending diminution of your faculties will send charging up and down your spine, if medical expertise is of the opinion that it must be done, then let it be so. There's just no point struggling. The thing is, though, you can prepare yourself. Armed with the information you are about to receive, a keen ear and sharp eye will allow you to notice and deal with some of dentistry's more 'latent' skills.
Often, the dentist will be disguised as a normal person - perhaps a mere slip of a girl. She might sidle up to you with Anime-like eyes and firm but pleasant primary teacher voice, telling you that "this drill will be a bit bumpy" or that the injection into the roof of your mouth will be a little "stingy", all the while exuding utter refutation to any suggestion that butter would do anything but retain its solidity in her buccal cavity. These coded phrases are actually your chance to insist the dentist fill you with several cc's of morphine in order to stave off the forthcoming barrage of chair-gripping pain that is about to engulf you.
Now, this is another important bit; they will also hide things from you.
You may only guess at the inquisitorial nature of some of the instruments that will bedeck the surgery, as you will never see them. They will be concealed behind the back of the dentist whilst they give you a 'high-level overview' of what is about to happen. When you are subsequently asked to "open wide", the 'whatever' will be shoved into your mouth at mongoose-startling speed and the dentist will transform into a whirling dervish of heaving, pushing and twisting. After each jaw-deforming effort (which will seem to last for days), the 'whatever' will be whipped out of sight again and, as if by magic, a beatific smile will replace the grunting, demented visage that had been before you only seconds ago.
This is mentioned only so that you are aware of the facts. It is plainly up to you whether you wish to insist on viewing the instrumentation beforehand and you may well save yourself a goodly sum on anesthetic just by looking at the medieval tools involved and fainting clean away.
The change in demeanor of the dentist however, is something you should be aware of. Knowing in advance that this will happen may help prevent you leaping from the chair and hurtling from the surgery babbling excerpts from 'Marathon Man'. You will, however, not truly believe this until you have seen it with your own eyes. Even then, it's amazing how easily you can begin to doubt yourself. "Did that really just happen - no, couldn't possibly have... surely?"
After several bouts of this extraordinary behavior, the morphine creature will finally produce something akin to a small elephant tusk which he/she will claim had once fitted in your mouth. You will be more inclined to believe that half your face must be missing but you must take the dentist's word on this matter. All entreaties to let you keep the horn and maybe make a miniature set of piano keys from it will be heartlessly ignored.
After a day or two, the foot-shaped bruise on your chest will finally disappear and you will become utterly convinced that the whole sinister Jekyll and Hyde experience was nought but the product of a fevered imagination. So much so that, whilst your flexible friend is palpably stiffening from being swiped (that's your credit card, in case there was room for doubt), you might just find yourself making an appointment to have the tooth's opposite number removed also.