My teeth are disgusting.
Not that you’d ever notice it. My teeth are all steadily in my jaw, corrected by braces and relatively white. But the condition they’re in is remarkably poor. Say what you will about fluoride, but at this point I’m slightly jealous that I grew up without it in my water. Aside from lack of fluoride, though, dentists have regaled me with commentary on how, oddly, I have “naturally weak teeth.” Great. But the most damaging aspect of my filthy, rotten teeth was probably the gallons upon gallons of Pepsi I drank as a child. In fact, it was a house standard to keep 24-packs of the poison-water on hand. And when immersed in the latest action figure, movie, or game, I’d be chugging the stuff as if it were a life supply.
Here I am now.
Or rather, yesterday. I had a dentist visit, going in for a deep cleaning. It set me back a few hundred dollars, which I wanted to use for my upcoming wedding. I also have two root canals to go, along with some crowns. Maybe I’ll afford it all someday. Maybe not.
But my appointment was OK. At least, OK in the sense that I like my hygienist — a real, caring professional man.
I was properly numbed for a cleaning on one side of my mouth. The kind hygienist made me feel relaxed. I liked him. The best thing about the horror of dentistry is that you don’t have to look at your tormentor; in fact I believe it’s an industry standard of sorts that you’re not supposed to: you have gunk in your mouth.
But with eyes shut, I was soothed by his mint-cool tone and demeanor.
He started cleaning, and OK OK because I’m used to the dental sounds and bad tastes and awful who-knows-what slipping to the back of my throat and suctioney things and water mixed with spit: all of it. I’m fine.
But then he starts working in fine detail around a tooth that needed a root canal, and at that moment I believe I wanted to cry.
I clasped one of my hands with the other, pretending it was my wife-to-be.
I explained, with a sick panicky desperation, how much pain I was in.
“Hey…” he reasoned, “I’m sorry. I’ll go easy around that part, ok?”
He got to work, and I opened my eyes looking at the bright light because light is the happy thing that people see when they die.
Bllarrrrppp… phhhhuuu….
Then out of nowhere came a deep groan from this man’s lower belly. Or was it something else?
Phhuuu… EEIIIrrrrpppp.
Oh God. Not now.
Brrrrrrrr…. Brip!
That’s right: This man needed to go poo.
I wanted him to say something. To excuse himself. But he didn’t. He just kept working, making these strange uncomfortable noises. I kept trying to console myself and think it’s his stomach, he’s only hungry, but no.
GRRRIImmmmmmph!
Dear LORD! Suddenly he rose, saying that he was done with half my mouth. He recommended I take a break. You know, let the jaw relax. So I did. I grabbed a magazine and saw this:
A Dental Nightmare.
Not my particular dental nightmare, but it was still close-to-the-last thing I wanted to see right then, other than a constipated man heeling over.
He came back. He hadn’t taken care of himself! I understand though. It would’ve been a long break. In the end, he cared about his patients.
He was a good guy.
this is not the place to settle the controversy of fluoride. not when you drank more pepsi than water with or without fluoride.
I don’t see evidence here that supported your dentist’s poo needs nor do I think dentists need to ever poo.
if I had a nickel everytime my hand grabbed something that pretended to be my non-existent wife-to-be’s something…
sharks are scary and so is the well being of teeth. then there are magazines.
play some games. get off the poop and teeth.
“play some games. get off the poop and teeth”
The greatest thing about having your own website? The freedom to write whatever you want.
Thanks for the suggestion, though.
I’m real sorry to hear about the discomfort of you and your hygienest. But I have to confess that this is the funniest shit (no pun intended) that I’ve read in a long time.
[...] mentioned before, I have a veritable tooth-sickness, and every day feels like dying and suffering. Clarification: [...]