Day at the Dentist

I'm gonna try my hardest to keep this sucker brief cuz my last few posts have been epics, and as my English teachers used to constantly warn me in red ink on my papers..."you're being too verbose". Basically a nice intellectual way of saying you are rambling and blathering on so long that people are getting bored. And I'd hate to do that, so I'll (try to) keep this under a couple hundred words.

Although that will be difficult with tonight's topic, which is all about my day at the dentist.

I was thrilled when my insurance finally kicked in, although I had to kick my butt to actually call and make an appointment with a dentist, one recommended by my fremp. As soon as I hung up the phone with the receptionist my stomach was engaged in a gastronomical tug-of-war. Part of me was really excited to finally talk to someone about the bar in my teeth, the possibility of getting my wisdom teeth pulled, but ESPECIALLY my extreme sensitivity. However, as estatic as I was for that I also got those ol' childish fears of getting in that dentist chair again.

I remember as a kid doing everything necessary to avoid that chair: stomach bug, a big test I couldn't miss, even the off chance my mom was too busy to take me. But eventually I always landed in the same spot, sitting in the stiff tall chair of Dr. Maquire's office, staring at plush clowns and Dr. Seuss books while a muffled woman tried to calm my lurching stomach and sensitive gag-reflex while she applied chalky paste that lingered well after the visit was over. The only consolation at the end was that Dr. Maguire gave out these little tokens which you then took over to a big carnival-like counter and traded them in for stickers, pencils, sugar-free candy (yuck), or my favorite, a spin on the prize wheel. What can I say? I guess I should've realized then that I'd have a thing for gambling when I got older.

I hadn't been to a dentist since those last adolescent years, except for getting my braces. But once college came and went I was forced to prioritize when it came to finances, which meant pushing that yearly check-up off to the side. Before I knew it, the years passed and my teeth took the punishment. But once this senstivity thing became too much to bear (I knew it was bad when I was eating a peach with a knife and fork and wincing whenever I took of sip of water that wasn't tepid), my priorities shifted again. And so there I was, back in a stiff chair, but there were no plush clowns or Dr. Seuss books.

I came in right on time, miraculously, filled out the little paperwork, and waited. It must have been either a slow day or they didn't get an unreasonable amount of clients, because I didn't see another soul come and go while I waited. I took the opportunity to look around to assess this office. Not surprising it was different that Dr. Maguire's, who specialized in kids and young adults. This place did have a few toys and magazine for the younger ages, but for the most part it was set up like a grown-up's living room, with current magazines and big comfy sofas.

The hygienist opened the door, introduced herself and ushered me in.

"So, how long has it been since your last dental visit?" she asked casually.

"Umm quite a while. Like..7 or 8 years..," I said sheepishly. She merely smiled and then asked what I had come in for. I told her I needed a cleaning desperately, but quickly added my issue with sensitivity, paranoid I'd leave the office without getting the problem addressed. She smiled again and led me to the X-ray machine. Afterwards she led me back to her small office and the tall chair.

As I sorta mentioned before, I have this metal bar thing that is stuck to the back of my bottom front teeth which I've had since I had braces. It was supposed to be removed years ago, but like I said, I never got around to it. She began working by picking at my teeth with the sharp hook thing. While she didn't seem to have much issue with the rest, I could feel her bracing herself as she hacked at the sludge clinging to the metal bar. At one point she had no choice but to rest the heel of her palm on my cheek, smushing my face as she pulled and pulled. I'm pretty sure my head even nearly lifted off the head rest.

At brief moments she paused (probably to catch her breath and give her hand a rest), she asked me what I do. Suddenly the spotlight was on me.

"I, uh, brush twice a day, and I used this mouthwash.." I said, trying to plead a case.

She smiled once again, and said, "No, I mean for a living."

"Oh", friggin idiot, "I'm a temp. For *&^%*. But actually I work for Roth Staffing."

"She gave me a perplexed face, "I don't really understand.." It's times like these I wish I had a simple job to explain. I'm a teacher. I'm a plumber. I'm a tight-rope walker. These are all titles that give people precies information about what you do and then move on. Instead in my case, I feel the need to go into detail so I just end up confusing people anyway. I guess it doesn't help that half the time I don't even know what it is I do exactly.

After I gave her the best explanation I could she simply nodded and went back to the Everglades that are my teeth. I embarrased myself only once more when she offered me to swish with water and I couldn't figure out how to work the faucet. She had to show me, which definitely made me feel like the word DUNCE was slowly emerging on my forehead. But the rest of the visit went on without another hitch. The dentist came in and applied some de-sensitizing paste on my teeth and they do feel a bit better.

Sorry for this rushed ending, but I can tell by the bar at the side of this text box that I am being "verbose" again, so I'll leave you all for tonite. See you tomorrow!