Due to some lucky genetics from mom, I have 3 of my teeth. She still has all four at age 64. I would have all 4, but I cracked one back in 1995. I thought it would heal on its own, and I'm a dental chicken to begin with. Two months later, I bit down on a pastry, which should be soft, and damn near screamed. It was Friday, I was at work and had to travel the following week. So I told my boss I had to go to the dentist and left early. I found a dentist down the street (was new to the area, didn't have a regular dentist), they determined the tooth was dead and had to come out. Six shots of novacaine later, the surgeon had my tooth out in under ten seconds. I put a big wad of cotton gauze in my mouth and went back to work.
Well, I was bleeding, lots. So I went to the bathroom to change the gauze. One co-worker came in and asked how it went, and I casually said I'd had a wisdom tooth yanked. He was shocked I was there. I was like, what, it's no big deal. Had to prove I was a tough guy I guess.

I went home, bought a short length prescription of pain killers (like, 3 days worth), had some friends over to watch a PPV and ate a dinner of apple sauce. Once the novacaine wore off, I took the pain killers. No problems at all. Next day, I was fine. There was just a little bit of oozing.
Thank God I didn't take after dad. He had all four out at once when he was in the Army and all he got was some novacaine shots. He told me the dentist had to put his knee on his chest to pull those choppers out, which sounds like fun.