Dentist Convention During Spring Break

Howard’s first dentist convention. What could go wrong?

It's Howard's first dentist convention. On arrival he has to share a room because they lost his reservation.


Howard tried to focus on his lectures—gum disease prevention, innovations in ceramic crowns—but every night, returning to the hotel felt like stepping into a frat party during a hurricane. There was limbo in the hallways, a tower of duct-taped beer cans, and once, a woman roller-skating past the elevator with a blow-up dolphin.


His roommate, Rolland, was chaos in cargo shorts, but oddly kind.


“Yo, Doc,” Rolland said one night, handing him a Red Bull and vodka. “You look tense. You gotta let loose.”


“I came to learn about mandibular alignment, not body shots.”


Rolland winked. “Don’t do anything stupid… unless it’ll make a great story.” He tossed Howard a pineapple-print swim shirt.


That night, they hit the rooftop pool. Rolland cannonballed in while Howard sipped something sugary and suspicious. A girl asked if he was someone’s dad. He replied, “I’m a dentist.” Somehow, that made him more popular.


By day four, something shifted. Howard started relaxing. He laughed when someone wore a dental floss lanyard as a bikini strap. He gave an impromptu lecture on tartar buildup to a group of students. One said, “Dude, plaque is hardcore.”


When Jessica called and asked how things were going, he hesitated, then grinned. “Weird… but kind of fun.”


Rolland yelled in the background, “Tell her we’re doing tequila yoga tomorrow!”


On the final night, at a beach bonfire, Howard danced—badly, joyfully. He explained root canals to a girl in a toothbrush bikini and took a selfie with her.


“Thanks for not being a buzzkill,” Rolland said later. “You make being smart seem… okay.”


Howard looked up at the stars and smiled. “You know what? Dentistry isn’t that boring after all.”