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Danny |
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One of the most fun things any human can do is to spend the afternoon at the dentist. See- -you already know this is one of those topics which can bring huge laughs- -as long as there’s plenty of nitrous involved. Unfortunately for me, this was no laughing gas matter. All dentists go through poking around inside your mouth while invariably holding a one way conversation. “So how’re the kids?” “Mffrrffhffrrff” is all I can say with several of his fingers and three extraneous utensils jammed in my mouth. But he continues “Really. That’s great. And how’s the work? Keeping you busy, are they?” And again all I can manage is an open-mouthed “Yawwah howwah” “You don’t say?” he replies. Actually, no I don’t. How can I talk with your arms up to your elbows in my mouth? They don’t care. They just have to divert their own attention from the fact that they are staring at one more gaping pie hole and thinking “GAWD, why didn’t I go to law school. Or at least psychiatry. Or anything other than this? Well at least I’m not a proctologist like Walter down the hall. How does he do it?” After what seems like an eternity of poking and prodding with the sharpest little meat-hook he can find, he stands back and issues your death sentence by saying those magic words- -“root canal”. I jumped for joy. Well, actually I just jumped. There are few other phrases in the English language that can elicit a similar repsonse- -“IRS audit” comes to mind. So does “complete transmission overhaul”. Or “I’m sorry. It seems as though you’ve been rejected. Do you have another credit card with you?” Sheer panic. But I’ve already been through all of those, so at the moment “root canal” leads the list. What makes it more intense is that you get sent away to “the specialist”. In this case, the endodontist, from the Latin for “fix the toothache before it is the endo me”. Here is a true professional trained at The Marquis de Sade Medical College and Bestiality Clinic. And they always say the same thing: “This shouldn’t really hurt very much- -Just a little pressure or minor discomfort”. Oh really? How “minor”? For those who have yet to experience this most exceptional of life’s little pleasures, I should tell you that your teeth have these little canals inside them containing nerves and blood vessels that you apparently only need when your teeth are forming in your teen and pre-teen years. Once a molar has grown in these are expendable little pulpy substances inside your teeth just waiting to make you miserable. When they show you the X-rays and point to these canals, it’s like looking at a blurry picture of the planet Mars. The canals there are more pronounced. And speaking of X-rays- -Why is it that the dentist, the hygienist, and half the office staff run for cover as the word “Clear!” is shouted up and down the office hallway just before they snap the picture? YOU are always asked to hold some sort of lobster tongs in place and bite in just a certain way so that they can get the picture, once they come out from hiding under the desks. Great. Bite this. I expect not to need a flashlight anymore at night. I’ll just glow in the dark. So they make the assessment of where it hurts the most- -Hey! I already know that- -and they set to work grinding and poking and drilling and filing and every so often you let out a yelp and they say “More Novocaine?” to which you always say “Uh-huh” as best you can. At least this guy has finally realized that you cannot have a conversation while this is going on, which is the good news. The bad news is he puts on a CD of Sinatra, which would be just fine in and of itself, except that he proceeds to sing along in your ear: “Those little town blues…I’m leaving dah dah…” about three keys away from the album Dental karaoke. Now my ears hurt too. Sheesh. Also my endodontist has this award on his wall that I was forced to stare at because of the position assumed in the chair. It said something about being the 1983 recipient of the “Painless Potter” award, or some such (“Hey, Doc, I thought you said this was painless.” “It is- -It didn’t hurt me a bit”- -Bob Hope, 1948) It had all kinds of small print that you could only read if you got up and looked closely at it. Of course if you did, you’d find it was probably one of those phony awards they make up at theme parks, and that in the lower corner in real tiny print it would most likely say “Knott’s Berry Farm” or “Magic Mountain”. It takes about an hour. “Doobie doobie doo…” And now that this is a wonderful memory of an afternoon well spent, it’s time to look forward to the next part of this ongoing process- -building the crown. “Fly me to the moon and let me dah dah dah dah dah…” I’m not looking forward to this at all. “Just say the words and we’ll beat the birds down to Acapulco Bay…Dah dah dah, dah dah dah fly way.” Maybe I could
just have one like in the old Imperial Margarine ads.
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