I love dental floss. Seriously. In November of 2004 my dentist in Utah left a gap between two of my teeth he was repairing. (No, this is NOT why we moved.) Now food gets so crammed in there, I can't even go 5 minutes after eating without flossing -- all my teeth! Every time I eat! All day! Every day!!! There isn't a car, drawer, suit case or pocket at our house that doesn't have at least a scrap of dental floss in it. And yes, I'm perfectly fine with recycling my own floss during an intradental baconectomy emergency.
Some might say that's a good thing. My new hygienist, for one, is the first hygienist in my life to give me an "A" at my check ups. My old hygienist would peer into my mouth, scrape a little here and there, sit back and ask me, "so, do you floss regularly?" I barely get out a "sure," before she's poking at the gums around my molars again. She raises an eyebrow and asks, "how regularly?" I tell her, "Well, I see you once every 6 months, don't I? So, at least semiannually." She's not amused.
I digress. Back to my story...
Yesterday I flew home from Philadelphia after a one-day event in Wilmington, Delaware. I was cutting it close to my flight time, when I realized I hadn't eaten dinner yet. So, with about 15 minutes to spare, I stopped in at the closest deli stand in the terminal and picked what I hoped would be the least stale chicken wrap in the display case. I got to the gate just in time for them to close the door behind me, found my seat, and caught my breath.
After a few minutes of settling in, (What does that even mean? It's not like that 1.5 square foot seat is a significant piece of real estate anyway. Should I have had rows 13 and 14 over for peanuts and a soda?!) I decided the time was right to enjoy my supper. Now if you've flown before, you know eating a full meal on board (unless you're in first class) can be a little bit awkward. Your mom always taught you not to eat in front of others, but you'd think this qualifies as an exception. I may be making this up, but even as I started to crack open the sack that contained my wrap, the guy next to me startled out of his slumber, glared at the bag and thought (I'm most positive), "Is he REALLY going to eat that in front of everyone?!"
Yes, I was. Yes, I did.
I didn't want to make a production out of it, so I devoured the sandwich with as much haste and attention to detail as a John Roberts swearing-in. (However, I didn't have to re-eat my dinner the next day.) I was even done before take off! Then it hit me...
I was out of floss.
Yes, this tragedy actually began earlier in the day when I swiped the last 4 1/2 inches of floss from its container right after lunch. I hadn't thought much about it then. But lurking in the back of my mind was the nagging notion that at some un-opportune time, I would be faced with a floss-less scenario of gum-jarring proportions. I know that seems a little dramatic, but really, that's how it feels!!! Someone with a larger-than-normal gap between two of their back teeth -- back me up on this, will ya?
[At this point I recognize how long this story is getting. I'd love to tell you, it's gonna be worth it, but I'd be lying.]
Here's where the occupational hazard kicks in. As some of you know, I regularly teach The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. And Habit 1 is, "Be Proactive." Well, what's a guy to do who teaches the stuff, if he can't live it?! As I sit in seat 15D, the irritation in my mouth was growing and growing by the second. I tried to close my eyes and ignore it. I tried a round of Solitaire on my Palm Treo. I tried to read the in-flight magazine. To no avail, I could think of nothing else, but the chicken and flour tortilla morsels that were lodged between numbers 14 and 15. Now was the time to Be Proactive. "Failure is not an option" kept running through my mind -- the title of our Apollo 13 video clip to teach managers to use their resourcefullness and initiative.
Should I ask the flight attendant, if she has floss? Are you kidding?! Maybe there's a thread hanging off the seat cushion or my suit coat! Found one. Tried it. Broke. Drats!!! Visions of McGyver were now pressing on my mind. "He could do it, Todd! Why can't you?"
I even took the ball point pen apart that was in my pocket, hoping somehow that some part of it would serve as an adequate pick. No such luck. Then it hit me. "McGyver sure used a lot of wire... Wire! Right, Todd. Where do you think you're going to find wire?"
Then, as if knowing the discomfort I was experiencing and mocking me all along, there it was, staring back at me from the pocket in the back of the seat in front of me. It was only a small, white corner. But I knew exactly what it was and exactly what to do.
I can honestly say, I've never had to use an air sickness back in my life... until yesterday. Recalling that it's closure contained some sort of bendy material, embedded into the paper, I began the dismantling process. It's a good thing it was dark and that my anti-chicken-wrap-ite neighbor was peacefully slumbering. The bits of paper that fell onto my seat and the floor began to reveal the answer. Indeed! There it was, shining back at me in all its glory!
A thin guage piece of stainless steel wire, prepared now to sufficiently serve as a tooth pick! And here it is for you to witness, lest someone dismiss this tale as mere fantasy.
You know, as I read back over this story, I realize it goes well beyond the borders of TMI (too much information). But now that I've spent all this time telling you about it, what the heck...
It hit me. In a very real way, Bridger was sent to me to be my gardner. And over the next several decades, he will pluck from the recesses of my heart and mind the weeds of prejudice, misunderstanding, intolerance and selfishness. He will replace them with pastures of patience, love, abundance and joy! This was our Heavenly Father's way of gently putting his hand on my shoulder and whispering into my ear, "Todd, my son, your lawn is the pits! Please, let me be your gardner!"
