Waxing Endodontic

I have Irish teeth. They rot out of my head despite my best efforts at oral hygiene. Luckily I also have dental insurance.
Today was the last day of my second root canal on the same tooth. (incidentally, I do everything twice, had my ears pierced 2x for one hole, got tattooed 2x for one tattoo, and now root canal 2x on one tooth)
Walking into the endodontist's office (root canal specialist) was like walking back into 1987, complete with blue and silver metallic wallpaper, big hair, "The Golden Girls" playing in the waiting room, I mean, the only things missing were my black spandex pants, scrunchie socks and side ponytail. The place is really bizarre. For one thing, they keep their used "sharps" in an empty milk jug! Not one of those indiscreet red "bio hazard" containers, but a milk jug! Alas, I want my tooth fixed and my dentist has sent me here so, I proceed. The Dr. himself doesn't really give me the warm and fuzzies, more like the heebie jeebies, but he comes recommended, and most importantly he takes my insurance, and I figured, hey, he was wearing gloves. (OK, so one of them was white with sequins and he kept holding it up in the air, but again, ...he takes my insurance).
I have been to the office twice before today without incident. Other than the time warp thing, and two large needles jammed into the roof of my mouth, it's been okay. Well, today I realized I should have trusted my intuition and turned myself right back out as soon as I arrived the first time.
Caution, the following is not for squeamish readers.
After catching up with Rose and Blanche and Sophia, my turn came, and I sat back in the ever so welcoming reclining chair of torture, accepted the needle jabs and embraced the numbing of what felt like my entire face. Dr. Heebie Jeebie took his place next to my head and began his procedure. I decided to close my eyes because with all that is going on there's so much back and forth and technical talk and really I 'd rather not see all the instruments and what have you that are being shoved into the recesses of my skull. Dr. HJ starts singing off key (and if I can tell it's off key then you know it must be BAD) to "Good Vibrations". That is exactly what I am not having - good vibrations. I am a little uneasy, it is after all, root canal. I open my eyes every few seconds though, just to check on things a little bit, and so I don't appear to have gone to sleep. So there I sit, in 1987 having my root canal "retreated" by Dr. Heebie Jeebie and his assistant, Big Hair, and I open my eyes to see... are you ready? Dr. HJ pulling a big fat wad of orange ear wax out of his ear (still humming Good Vibrations) and then tossing the "cotton swab" across his tray of instruments onto the counter. The only thing that kept me from vomiting was my absolute fear of choking on my own vomit and dying in that God-forsaken place.
Thank God my root canal was pronounced "finished" today. On my way out the scary receptionist whose denim jacket almost definitely had a Def Leppard patch across the back, said to me, "you have 2 more teeth that need to be retreated, should I make you an appointment?"
"NO."