I'm stealthy when stoned

If you've got a backache, or a deep tissue bruise in your thigh, you probably reach for some sort of painkiller, right?  Chances are you do, as enough prescription painkillers are purchased in the States to be able to administer a 300mg dose to every person in the country annually (that doesn't even factor in over-the-counter brands).  It makes sense; if you're in pain, take something that's called a "painKILLER", it's just common sense.  Well, I don't like to.

It's not because of some holier-than-thou reason where I think I'm a better person for not using painkillers.  That's stupid.  (Someone once interpreted an offhand comment of mine about painkillers in this manner.)  It's because they don't work for me.

I just skip to step two...

Please note that I said "for me"; I don't think there's some conspiracy from the pharmaceutical corporations in which they are feeding the public placebos (Another person assumed I meant this... I need to choose my words more carefully when discussing this apparently).  Believe me, I know that painkillers do their job.  I remember vacationing in England with my mum and sister and having Mum stop in at every Boots we passed to buy codeine, and it did its job well.  Also, please note that my mum is not a drug addict (that I know of), she had a messed up disk in her back; the codeine was the only thing keeping her capable of standing upright.  When I take painkillers, one of two things happen.  In scenario A actually, nothing happens.  Absolutely no effect felt, which leaves me at square 1, with an aching [insert body part here].  Hell, maybe those just happen to be the placebo pills and there is a big conspiracy.  Probably not though.

In scenario B, the pain becomes admittedly duller, but more throbbing, which makes me more aware of the pain at every moment, and focusing on the throbbing makes my mind more conscious of the fact that wow, I'm actually in quite a bit of pain here.  Also, in this scenario, I think I'm entirely lucid, but am likely not.  I once played a basketball game on, well I'm actually not sure what it was; my coach gave it to me before the game because I was feverish and achy from being sick.  The point is, I was a mess.

No, for me to benefit from the intended effects of painkillers, they have to be much more potent.  Local anesthetic potent.  And then I just get stupid.

Apparently it runs in the family; my sister was rather loopy after having her wisdom teeth removed as well.  She was on a soccer retreat several days later and was still feeling the effects.  Her coach found her scouring the kitchen at 3 A.M. "looking for salt".  I, of course, was determined to show no ill effects after my surgery, just to spite her.  Also, I had been invited to go see a movie that afternoon with friends...

If you ever invite anyone somewhere and their answer is "I'm having my wisdom teeth out that morning, but I can probably come", that means no.

When I got seated in the dentist's chair, the surgeon asked if I had any questions before they applied the anesthetic.

Me: Yeah, how long will this take?

Surgeon: Around an hour, maybe 90 minutes. (This is what I'm assuming; I don't actually remember what he said.)

Me: (Mentally calculating how long that left me before the movie would be starting) Okay, cool.  Let's get this going then.

The next thing I remember was waking up, still pretty groggy, and with no glasses on.  I am BLIND without glasses or contacts.  I heard the surgical assistant say "Oh good, you're up.  I'll go grab your mum so she can take you home."  As I began to make sense of my surroundings, I noted that my mouth felt fine; a little less mobile than my jaw normally is, but certainly not in pain.  Ha, take that Sophie!

I also noted that the blanket they had covered me with was ridiculously soft and cozy.  I didn't want to ever take it off.  Looking around the room with blurry vision, I realized I was the only person in the room.  So I grabbed the blanket and stuffed it into my pants.

A few adjustments later, and it was all even.  In fact, I was rather proud of my handiwork.  I mean, it didn't even look as if my crotch was stuffed with fleece, which it totally was.

I put on my best poker face (made difficult by the fact that my cheeks made me look like a chipmunk) and walked out alongside my mum.

We made it out to the car, blanket intact, where I promptly fell asleep.

I will see your $20, and raise you one crotch-blanket.

When we got home, it was still relatively early (the appointment had been first thing in the morning), and my sister was still asleep.  My drug-addled brain cared not for her slumber, as I was compelled to rub it in her face that I was entirely cognizant and functional.  I threw open the bedroom door and yelled "SPITE!!!!!" in what must have been an incredibly slurred bellow, then proceeded to go to the living room, where I fell asleep again.

I awoke to discover that I was drooling blood onto the arm of our couch.  Yum!  I was napping under the blanket from the surgeon's office!  A little bit of bleeding wasn't going to stop me.  Besides, my dual naps had done me good.

Me: Mum, I'm going to a movie at 4 with Maria and Ruth.

Mum: No you're not.

Me: Yes I am!  I'm fine.  A liddle slurry, sure, but dat's normal when de dentist freezes your mouf (bear in mind I couldn't pronounce things properly)

Mum: ............................... No.

I proceeded to elaborate quite eloquently to my mum exactly why I was fine and would be going to see a movie that afternoon.  When I finished, I was certain that my logic had swayed her.

Mum: No chance.  You're supposed to be under supervision for 24 hours.  That means rest.

Me: I'd be wif friends, it's not like I'd be unsupervised.

By this point, Mum's face was a mixture of exasperation, amusement, and suppressing murderous frustration.

"If I kill him, can I make it look like he just drowned in his own blood-drool?"

Mum: Tyler, the surgeon said you weren't to go out.  End of discussion.

Me: But if he said I could?  Like, if I phoned them right now and asked, and they said okay, then I could go, right?  I'm gonna phone them.

My mum just shook her head in disbelief as I took out my phone and dialed the oral surgeon's office.  A receptionist picked up after a couple rings, and I, with the utmost confidence, began to explain my situation.  The call was on speaker-phone because my mum wanted to hear this for herself.

Me: Hi, this is Tyler.  You just took my teeth out.  I was wondering, can I go to a movie?  (*I should note that I consider having spoken those sentences entirely seriously is something I am unreasonably proud of*)

Receptionist: ........I'm sorry, what?

Me: My friends are seeing a movie in a bit, can I go with them?  I feel totally fine.

Receptionist: Um, well you need to be under supervision since you're still very dru-

Me: Supervision won't be a problem, I'm going with friends.  They can supervise me.

Receptionist: Well, we really don't recommend you go anywhere.  And they'd have to supervise you everywhere, even the bathroom.

This was a wrinkle I had not foreseen.  Both Maria and Ruth are girls, and I suspect they would be hesitant at best if a drugged up guy asked them to help him pee.  I hope so at least.

Me: (thinking on the fly) No worries, I'll just hold it if I have to go.

Receptionist: Um............  It would probably be best if you didn't go.

Me: But that's not a blanket "No", right?

Receptionist: Well, Sir, we aren't able to force you to do anyth-

Me: Cool, thank you, bye!

I hung up the phone, beaming with pride.  I say beaming, but that's relative when you can't move your face.  I was beaming with my eyes though.  Like an Andalite would.

Animorphs reference!

When my mum still wouldn't let me leave the house, I threw a temper tantrum about how unfair this was.  (By the way, this happened when I was 18...)  Within 10 minutes, I had exhausted myself and fell asleep for a good 14 hours straight.

The next few days were a muddled jumble of atypical sleeping patterns, and the beginnings of the realization that I was maybe, just maybe, still feeling the effects of the drugs.  On the fourth day, I got up in the morning, joined my mum in the living room for breakfast, and noticed the blanket from the office.

Me: Oh, how do you like our new blanket?  It's so comfy!  I took it from the surgeon's...

Mum: I know.

Me: Well yeah, once we got home I'm sure it was obvious.  But what a job by me to get it out unnoticed, eh?  It was down my pants, but no one could even tell!

Mum: I think you're remembering this wrong.

Me: Wh-what do you mean?

Mum: You shoved it into your pants, but only half of it.  The rest of the blanket was hanging out the front of your pants really clearly.

Pictured: Stealth.

Me: ... But... They didn't say anything.

Mum: Ty, it was down your pants.  I don't think they wanted it back at that point.  They were staring at you as we were leaving and I apologized to the front desk as we left, but they didn't say anything.

So I'm not quite as stealthy as I thought I was, but hey, I got a blanket out of it.  I'll chalk that one up as a win for me, thank you very much.

Tyler: 1, Oral Surgeons: 0

**Also, if the receptionist who had to field my call ever reads this, please accept my sincere apology for you having to deal with me.