The Dentist

Nothing is more random and inconvenient than your bi-yearly trips to the dentist.  Since we are too primitive to figure out how to correctly brush or floss ourselves, each of us (unless you're incredibly poor and don't have dental coverage) subject ourselves to a stranger shoving foreign objects and minty (aka disgusting) paste into our mouths twice a year.  Since a trip to the dentist usually takes away valuable time I use to sit on my ass and watch tv, I have become somewhat of a pro over the years when it comes to prepping myself for the visit, in an attempt to make it as fast as possible.

First of course, you have to brush your teeth BEFORE your visit.  I know, this makes absolutely NO sense at all since you're headed in to get a mega cleaning anyway, but you know you do it.  I remember one time I forgot to do the pre-brush, and that was the day I was told my oral hygiene was declining.  What an embarrassing moment.  Getting scolded for being some dirty loser who doesn't know how to correctly brush is a pretty low moment.  Of course, after my pre-brush, I pull out the floss and go to town.  This is usually hard, since I search for the floss for about 15-20 minutes, after all, THIS IS ONE OF ONLY TWO TIMES I FLOSS ALL YEAR.  Eventually, in the back of the drawer, I find the dusty floss sample I was given on my last visit, and awkwardly attempt to get the job done.  I have always sucked at flossing...never truly figured it out.  I just can't seem to master wrapping the shit around my finger and simultaneously sliding it between my teeth, trying to avoid cutting the shit out of my gums.  Sometimes I'll brush a second time after the floss, especially if I anticipate getting the hot, thirty-something mom assistant as my cleaner for the day.  God forbid I let that hot little siren down...

So you finally get to the dentist.  First, you check in with the receptionist.  This woman always seems to remember your name, even though she only sees you twice a year and sees countless people walk in and out of that house of pain every day.  After some awkward small talk, you eventually retire to the waiting room to pick out the issue of TIME that seems to be the most current (within the last year) and simultaneously looks like it has the least traces of human germs all over it.  Did you ever think about how unsanitary those magazines are, for such a sanitary place?  The doctor's office is even worse.  Don't touch a damn thing in that place.  I swear, there is feces, blood, and mucous all over everything.

There's always that creepy old lady that stares at you in the waiting room too.  God knows how long she has been sitting there waiting for her husband while they replace every damn tooth in his skull.  The amazing part, she is doing absolutely nothing to occupy herself.  No magazine, no knitting, no snack...NOTHING.  Her hobby is to just stare at you, since after all, you obviously remind her of her grandson, who is now in prison serving 5-10 for breaking and entering...but he is such a good boy!!

Mercifully, your dental hygienist comes to call your name, right before the old bag's evil eyes melt you to death.  And wouldn't you know it, you get the hot one!  Jackpot!!  Okay...she's not actually hot at all, and a little bit old, but considering what you have to work with in the dentist's office, she'll have to do.  I might be the only person that feels this special connection with my dental hygienist...maybe I am a sick person, but truthfully I think I'm just an average guy with a man's brain.  After all, how many people in your life have you let shove their hands in your mouth at will?  That is a truly special bond.  Maybe it's the way she asks me to turn my head "a bit to the left" or to "open wide"...but wait, no, "close halfway".  There must be some type of code in there she is trying to communicate to me with, letting me know how she wants to run away to Rio de Janeiro with me.  After all, I am obviously the most obedient and attractive patient she has ever had...

Now you make it into the room.  On my trip, I manage to avoid the x-ray, which can be best described as trying to fit a baseball card in your mouth while trying to avoid gashing up your gums.  On this trip, it's straight to step two, which I call Captain Hook.  Yes...this is the magic metal tool that is no more than a small, sharp hook.  When used correctly, it can chip away plaque you've been building up for the past six months, with ease.  If you get the old hygienist with the thick glasses and shaky hands, it can turn into a deadly weapon leaving your mouth looking like an Andrew WK album cover (look it up).  My question is, if this hook works so well, why don't we have one in our own bathroom?  It's like dentists have a corner on the market.  All that your health insurance is paying for is the right to get the Captain Hook treatment twice a year.  After all, the polisher is basically a glorified electric toothbrush, and floss is just some fucking string.

So after your cleaning, you are then asked to wait a few minutes, or a few hours, for the dentist to come in and evaluate the job, since obviously the hygienist is not intelligent enough to notice if one of your teeth is rotting out of your mouth.  Recently, my primary dentist has changed.  The dentist I've had since I was five (we'll call him Dr. Awesome) is getting old and cutting back his hours.  Dr. Awesome always found a way to be the coolest guy on Earth.  When I was little, he'd give me all sorts of sweet ass stickers that I would promptly slap on EVERYTHING once I got home, never to be removed.  As I got older, we would talk about the Bills, and other random guy stuff.

So my new dentist is this little pudgy guy we'll call Dr. Sausage Fingers.  This guy has no personality at all.  His small talk on this visit involved some bullshit about how holiday stress makes people grind their teeth.  Well guess what douche, I really don't care.  Let's have some damn man-to-man time here.  Ask me about beer, or ultimate fighting or some shit.  On top of this, easily assumed by the name I assigned him, his short, pudgy fingers should have led him into any profession OTHER than being a freakin dentist.  When these things are shoved in your mouth you feel like you're Joey Chestnut scarfing down the last few hot dogs on the 4th of July.  Mercifully this only lasts a few seconds, and eventually I'm clutching my free tooth brush on my way out.

But first, time to make your next appointment.  "Okay...Mr. Williams...how does 5pm, Wednesday, August 20th, 2074 sound?"  Oh yeah...no problem...let me hop in my time machine and let you know, since I really have an idea of what I'll be doing that far into the freakin future.  I never save the damn card they give you anyway...I just wait for the courtesy call the day before.

Next thing I know, it's six months later.  I'm doin the pre-brush and spraying on some cologne for my baby girl hygienist, ready to do it all over again.  I love the dentist.