Barbara J. Hamby

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Conversation in a Dental Waiting Room

A few days ago while I was waiting to have my teeth cleaned, a young woman sat near me writing feverishly in a notebook. When she looked up, I asked:

“Are you a writer or a student?”

“Both” she replied. Then she began telling me her life story, which was quite involved and intriguing. The last time I had that experience, in a clinic waiting room, I warned the storyteller that I was a writer and might write her story. I did so. This time I debated whether to share the fact that I’m a writer. Actually, I had trouble getting a word in.

When her teen-age son came out of the dental chair and joined her in the waiting room, she continued her story until she reached a point where she was comfortable breaking it off.

The peek she gave me into her life could easily be filled out into at least a short story, if not a book. Maybe I’ll give it a shot one of these days.

In retrospect, I think it’s pretty sad that we have so little contact with neighbors and co-workers that we can’t share more of our lives with them. Maybe we feel safer sharing with a stranger than with people we see all the time who may be more judgmental.