Decadent Dentistry

Went to the dentist this morning before work. That’s one of the things about getting up early to go to work when you don’t really need to show up for a few hours. If there’s an appointment you need to schedule for early morning, you can get it taken care of, then just show up to work as per normal, even though you’re late on your own internal chronosphere.

I’d been up since around 0530, as is normal for my system, and the cute brunette with the half-horn rimmed glasses, S., offered me coffee, tea, water, etc. (Yeah, at 0800, it’s probably too early to be noticing people, but that’s how I roll). I whipped out the paperwork that I’d prepared in advance, and she was excited as she didn’t have to wait for me to finish it.

S.: Oh, that’s so great! Our patients hate paperwork.
K.T.: Oh, I love paperwork. It’s one of my most favorite things in the world.
S.: [shocked look] Really?
K.T.: No, I hate paperwork, I just wanted to get it out of the way.
Other Receptionist (O.R.): You ‘love paperwork,’ that’s so cute!

[I have this effect on women, even when half-asleep at 0745 in the morning. None ever think of me as “hot,” or “attractive,” but all of them would probably describe me either as “cute” or “smart,” with a leaning towards “cute.” And it isn’t the “I wouldn’t be averse to swapping bodily fluids” type of cute, just the “he’s like my little brother” type of cute. Unless I’ve been getting this horribly wrong this whole time, which is entirely plausible. If I really were “smart,” then I’d be able to figure out a way to use the “cute”ness to my advantage.]

As I sit in their lounge, with the smooth leather chairs, black as silk, and just as smooth, they ask why I’m nervous, and I tell them The Story. When I was seven, I was visiting the dentist. I can remember the room now, yellowed-out lights from old fluorescent bulbs, an earthen brown chair that was too oversized for the likes of me, one of those light blue bibs about my neck, and her. The Dentist. Thick-lensed glasses, hair once a rich chestnut, now fading to regal grey, her face starting to adopt a wrinkled look, as if caught in a bluster too long. She stuck a tongue depressor down my throat a little too far, and I turned my head to the left and vomited over the side of the chair. Sad little puddle of orange-brown.

As she cleaned it up, with nary an emotion showing on her set face, she spoke these words: “The first time you vomit, I’ll clean it up. The second time, you’ll clean it up. The third time, I’ll mop it up and spoon feed it to you.”

And that is why, for the most part, I have taken such good care of my teeth from then until now, and why I dread visiting the dentist. Of course, it makes sense that I found out I have a cavity, the first in some twenty-odd (oh, so very, very odd) years. These habits I picked up at LM, including drinking several cokes in a day, and chomping on candy like it was the cure for boredom. Oh, wait, it sort of is.