Being a dentist must be difficult, it’s hard to imagine another profession that’s as detested. Just imaging laying back, the dentist shoving both hands in my mouth while he asks me about how work is going, and then having to spit in the little toilet sink is enough to make me break out into a sweat. I generally find every excuse to postpone the appointment.
With things being so shitty at work now, and as I count the days until I can quit the thought of going doesn’t seem quite as bad. Option 1 is to stay at work all day and listen to one of my clients complain about why we’ve changed to smaller cup sizes in the cafeteria, option 2 is to go to the dentist and listen to inane stories of travels to Florida for golf trips with “the boys”. I choose option 2.
Several months ago my friend, Judy, sent me a thoughtful birthday gift – some delicious chocolate covered caramels from the other side of the world. I had popped one in my mouth and was thinking happy thoughts about what the next year would bring when I bit down on the caramel. When I pulled my teeth apart I realized that one of my crowns had remained in the chocolate.
Not a good start to the year.
In January I went to see the Endodontist. “You have to have a root canal!” she announced while staring at the X-ray. “But I’ve already had a root canal on that tooth,” I told her. Who knew you could have multiple root canals on the same tooth? As it turns out when I originally had it done about 8 years ago that the dentist was a jack ass and failed to do it right. That would explain why over the years why I’d suffered from the most excruciating mouth pains known to man. So there I was, fresh off my 32nd (+10) birthday being told that I needed to spend more time with hands shoved down my throat.
The sexiest part was when the tooth was taken down to the rotten nub that it was and she announced that I couldn’t have the crown put back for 6 months. Yeah, nothing says sexy like a 32 (+10) with a tiny nub for a tooth. SEXY! How about adding that to your Tinder profile??
Fast forward four months, and I’m finally heading back to get it taken care of (fuck that 6 month rule of hers). While I hate the idea of having to spend hour upon hour in that scary chair, I take comfort in knowing that every second in that chair means one that I’m not at work. You know things are bad at work when the best part of your day is leaving early to go to the dentist’s office.
Nothing like having gloved hands shoved in your mouth while being asked questions about your summer vacation plan to make you question your existence.