I was in high school when I got my wisdom teeth out, and back then I blindly followed any doctoral advice. They'd given me painkillers, which everyone knows you only really need when you're in pain, but for some reason they print on the bottle something along the lines of, "Take two every four hours." I had some pills left days after the surgery when I returned to work at the bike shop, and I'd swallow four pills with a couple cans of soda over the course of my shift. I staggered around in doped-up haze for days, and no one really thought twice about it. The only smart thing they did was put me in charge of painting the bathroom instead of wrenching on customers' bikes. It was a lot of fun for me, though I suspect that shutting a doped-up teenager into a tiny room filled with paint fumes might violate some kind of child labor zoning ordinance.