Idly, Chuck wonders just how much time he can kill doing paperwork, or pretending to do paperwork, or some combination of the two. Putting it off won't really make that much difference, he's sure, but even so, this isn't something he's looking forward to, and a part of him half-hopes that maybe the Crentists will decide that this is too much trouble and ask them to reschedule or something. That would be a great way to get out of doing this, because then he just wouldn't have to come back.

Then he'd still have a chipped tooth, though, and therein lies the problem. There are other dentists, ones without frosted tips who are probably a little less terrifying, not to mention infuriating, but he has no way of knowing that. If he picked some random place he passed on the street, it could turn out to be even worse, and then he'd be stuck repeating this whole damn cycle.

Still, because all of this has him more frustrated than not, and because he can't resist the impulse to be kind of an asshole about it, he turns to Newt and stage whispers, just loudly enough that he's sure he'll be heard by whatever Crentists happen to be nearby, "Think it's too late to make a run for it?"