Call me peanut butter pants
I went to the dentist for the first time in three years today. I tried making appointments a year ago and six months ago. They fucked it up both times. I don’t appreciate how my dentist can make enough money to be open only four days a week for limited hours. When I tried to make this appointment I found that the next available time for a cleaning was three weeks later.
So it was with resentment that I got my teeth cleaned today. I rode the bus to Standale and walked a (very pleasant actually) mile and a half to the dentist’s office. I checked in and they kept asking about insurance. “I’m still on my parents’,” I told them. I don’t think that’s true, but somehow they’ll cover it. I was called in and had X Rays, scraping, finger wagging, etc. I haven’t had a cavity since I had baby teeth. I take care of my teeth, but I just forget to floss. I buy these stupid electric toothbrushes to floss for me. But no, it’s never enough.
I like my teeth and want to take care of them. I understand and respect dentists. But my problems with them lead me to question their racket. And the day I question dentists is the day I sound like a ‘hilljack’. But how could you not question my dentist? This guy rides into work on hi motorcycle with his dentist scrubs on.
He comes in for 2 minutes, glances at my record and asks, “So, still dating Julie?”
“No. We broke up 12 years ago.”
“Oh ho! Right. You just graduated from Grand Valley with a degree in…French, yeah. Right?”
“Hey, these teeth look super! Good job, my man. Hey, hope to see you soon. Vive la France!”
“Thanks. I’ll floss more often now.”
I let and walked to Arby’s where I bought two delicious, sugary chocolate chip cookies to spite my dentist.