Descriptive Essay
Sean Lesure
Per.3
English 11 AP
Mrs.Hamill
Rough Draft of Descriptive essay
I push the door open. The bell rings, with a soft but shrill ring. A wave of rubber gloves and disinfectant masked with air freshener smells are in the air . Chairs are cluttered in the waiting room of the dentists. Clusters of magazines lie on the wood coffee tables, shiny bright plastic showing logos and slogans. A little way forward from where I stand is a desk. A smiling receptionist sits there. She seems to have been expecting someone somehow, as she points me to go wait near the couches and chairs.
A few nervous patients are already there. They try to avert their eyes from the closed, threatening doors leading to the dental horror rooms, where a high pitched whirring sound is coming from. Occasionally, I hear a muffled thud, or yell from children in pain. One by one, the receptionist calls out the patients’ name.
Plastered on the walls are dramatic “Before/After” photos. They show yellow teeth, set crookedly in red raw gums becoming white and straight. The walls are painted a pasty clinical white, however photographs of people with toothy grins look down at me, from newspaper clippings over the years. It must be my imagination, but already I can taste the slightly stale, bubblegum flavored gloves, the cool hard metal of the examining probe, and the chink clink it makes when it sometimes collides with my teeth. I can feel the vinyl of the reclining chairs, which are covered in plastic, and also which clammy legs have a habit to stick to. In my mind I think if you’re a dentist you don’t need perfect teeth but they can’t be too bad. Sudden tapping of high heeled shoes from the glass doors separating the waiting room awakens me from my day dreaming. I look up my pulse quickens, and my hands sweat. I swallow the lump in my that has accumulated somehow. But even that cannot block out the words that I hear next; Doctor Lush will see
Per.3
English 11 AP
Mrs.Hamill
Rough Draft of Descriptive essay
I push the door open. The bell rings, with a soft but shrill ring. A wave of rubber gloves and disinfectant masked with air freshener smells are in the air . Chairs are cluttered in the waiting room of the dentists. Clusters of magazines lie on the wood coffee tables, shiny bright plastic showing logos and slogans. A little way forward from where I stand is a desk. A smiling receptionist sits there. She seems to have been expecting someone somehow, as she points me to go wait near the couches and chairs.
A few nervous patients are already there. They try to avert their eyes from the closed, threatening doors leading to the dental horror rooms, where a high pitched whirring sound is coming from. Occasionally, I hear a muffled thud, or yell from children in pain. One by one, the receptionist calls out the patients’ name.
Plastered on the walls are dramatic “Before/After” photos. They show yellow teeth, set crookedly in red raw gums becoming white and straight. The walls are painted a pasty clinical white, however photographs of people with toothy grins look down at me, from newspaper clippings over the years. It must be my imagination, but already I can taste the slightly stale, bubblegum flavored gloves, the cool hard metal of the examining probe, and the chink clink it makes when it sometimes collides with my teeth. I can feel the vinyl of the reclining chairs, which are covered in plastic, and also which clammy legs have a habit to stick to. In my mind I think if you’re a dentist you don’t need perfect teeth but they can’t be too bad. Sudden tapping of high heeled shoes from the glass doors separating the waiting room awakens me from my day dreaming. I look up my pulse quickens, and my hands sweat. I swallow the lump in my that has accumulated somehow. But even that cannot block out the words that I hear next; Doctor Lush will see