Today a man walked in and asked for multiple rows of teeth.
"Like a shark," he said, "but don't worry, I can sharpen them myself."
"Uh, we don't have the technology for that," I told him, "would you like to schedule a teeth cleaning session?"
"Nonsense," he replied, "We grow a second set of teeth for adulthood, right? Right? There must be some signal the body gets that makes it start growing that set of teeth. Simulate that, just find out what triggers it, what hormones or stem cells or whatever, and do that again like the first time. And then a few more times, so I'll have multiple rows. Like a shark."
"You'd be in constant pain, then, wouldn't you?" I replied, foolishly trying to reason with him, "Remember how much it hurt when you were a kid?"
"It would be worth it," he insisted.
"Also, your insurance plan doesn't cover demented experimentation."
"Look here!" he said, pounding a fist into the countertop, "I said I want multiple rows of teeth, not excuses. If you can't do this for me, I will go home and play Oregon trail. And name the characters after you. And keep playing the game really really badly until you get dysentery for realsies."
Whoa. Oregon Trail sympathetic hoodoo curses. Working as a dental assistant has been harder than I thought.