Little Office of Bethie's Horror
2005-01-17 @ 11:03 p.m.
Despite my completely legitmate and founded fear, I finally swallowed my pride (and apparently, one of my old fillings) and made a dentist appointment. After two years of not seeing a dentist I searched for a doctor nearby, in Arlington. Being that my dentist was well, a little drill-happy, I called 1-800-DENTIST to per chance find a female dentist who wouldn't try to woo me with her laughing gas, sexy dentist shoes, flavored flouride and then proceed to molest me. Yeah, I know, lofty goals.
So last week I came in for my first appointment. I knew I was going to get lectured since I had not had my teeth (professionally) cleaned in two years (no insurance/rapist dentist), so I wasn't surprised when she sat down with her clipboard and checklist. She ran through her list of questions and began the obligatory hygienist-interrogation. I've come to realize that the police and dentist association are in cahoots together to trick people into telling the truth. Think about it. It's all in the lamp, people. I do not think it is merely a coincidence that the lamp used in a police interrogation room to get suspects to squeal is the exact same make and model used in dentists offices to make patients tell the truth about their brushing habits. It's hard to lie when you have a gigantor light blinding you, maneuvered by a masked woman with sharp, metal torture devices in her hands.
* how often do you floss?
My answers were mostly true (you decide which is which.)
"Two years ago, twice a day, just in the butt, mint, and I don't think I've unpacked it yet, actually I think it's with my summer clothes somewhere..."
She cleaned my teeth, stabbed me with her razor sharp sterilized-lie-detector and told me to come back this week to get two fillings and a sealant replacement. Oh joy!
So she starts to 'numb me up' which means 'jamming needles into my gums' for a few minutes. Of course I have developed some sort of super-human-chickie-leg immunity to novacaine. She kept on having to put more in. "Does your lip feel numb yet?"
I don't know if it was the near-novacaine-overdose or just the complete and utter fear of being there, but I swear the entire time I was in that chair I was shivering. I can't believe they didn't notice, but they never said anything. She would just occassionally ask "how we doin'?"
So I arrive at work and I have to answer the phones for the next FIVE HOURS. ...WITH A SEMI-PARALYZED FACE.