I’ve never had a problem going to the dentist. I mean, like most people, I don’t enjoy having someone else’s hands in my mouth (already I can hear the voices saying “Speak for yourself”—this is a PG site, so back off), but I’m not petrified, and I don’t avoid going like some people. In my previous workplace, we had a great dental plan, but there were so many people with really awful teeth that it seemed like a lot of people avoided the dentist like the plague, which is the time period when, I believe, that dentists were invented and were used mostly for implanting dead peoples’ teeth into rich peoples’ mouths. I used to work with a guy who was so scared of the dentist that he had to have laughing gas just for a cleaning. I had laughing gas only once, when I had my wisdom teeth out, and all I remember is that it was the surgeon’s birthday and he had helium balloons in the corner, which were apparently the funniest f*cking thing I had EVER seen, to the point where he got really mad and said, “Stop laughing!” And I was like, “This is your fault, you hilarious bastard!” then he hooked me up to an IV and I don’t remember anything after that, except that having your wisdom teeth pulled out REALLY takes the smile off your face. But even THAT experience didn’t sour me on dentistry. Apparently, according to my dentist, I have “boring teeth”, which might sound like an insult, but he said it’s way better than HIS teeth—he’s had three root canals, four crowns, and multiple fillings, which is weird because you’d think with all his access to floss and sh*t that he’d be completely tuned up. I really wanted to ask if he did the repair work himself, like that Mr. Bean show where he gets sick of waiting for the dentist and starts messing with the dentist’s tools and ends up drilling into several teeth, but he had his hands in my mouth so I couldn’t.
Mostly our conversations involve him griping about the fact that I’m allergic to latex so he has to wear vinyl gloves “just for me” and “they don’t fit properly and they’re hard to get on because there’s no powder”. And that’s a way worse inconvenience than me swelling up and choking, which is why I left my last dentist, who was like “there’s no such thing as a latex allergy—stop being a baby and breathe properly”. Yesterday though, my current dentist was quite pleased because he’s got these new blue gloves that are more comfortable. Of course, he still came in the room with the latex ones on, but my hygienist gave him this crazy signal like she was swatting at bee or something and he came back with the non-death-inducing ones.
I love my hygienist. Her name is Harmony, and she’s very much like her name. We like all the same TV shows, and manage to talk about them while she has sharp hooks in my mouth. I’ve been going to her for several years, and there’s never been an incident until yesterday, which simply proves that the universe is spinning out of control. We were discussing the finer points of “Game of Thrones,” and we have this system where she says something, and then I wait until she clears her hands before I answer. She does this regularly, so our timing is usually pretty good, but yesterday, she was like “Could you believe that scene at the end with Sansa?” and I waited a second, then started to respond with, “I know, right?!” when GASP!
Me: Oh my god! I just bit you!
Harmony: Uh, it wasn’t hard.
Me: I’ve never bitten ANYONE before!
Harmony: It’s OK. I’ve actually been bitten before. Usually by little kids. They bite a lot harder.
Me: I’m so sorry.
Harmony: Seriously, it wasn’t that bad.
But then, at the end of the appointment, she told me that she might not be working there any longer, because she had an interview to be an “International Dental Recruiter”. And I pictured her going home and saying to her husband, “It was the last straw. If I can’t even count on mydangblog not to bite me like some insane middle-aged vampire, what’s the point? I gave her some bullsh*t story about becoming an International Dental Recruiter” and he would be like, “What the hell is an International Dental Recruiter?” and Harmony would say, “I just made that sh*t up. I’m done, Stan.” (I don’t know if her husband’s name is actually Stan, but I could totally hear her saying “Stan” in her voice.)
Anyway, I’m sad at being all bite-y and forcing my hygienist to find a new job, but then again, it also just occurred to me that I’ve been going to Harmony for years, and she never looks older than 25. Also, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her reflected in that tiny mirror she uses for checking the backs of my teeth, and sometimes, she digs a little too hard with the pick and it makes my gums bleed, but when she says sorry, she sound a little too cheerful. So who’s the vampire now, HARMONY?
Me: I can’t believe that, out of all the candy you gave out, all we have left are a bunch of mini-Mr. Goodbars and Wunderbars. I’ve never even heard of either of them. What happened to all the Aeros and Kitkats?!
Ken: I don’t know. I tried to be random…
Me: What the hell is a Wunderbar anyway?
Ken: Ooh, it’s yummy. It tastes like chocolate and butter.
Me: What?! That’s gross. Give me one…ohhh, that’s actually quite tasty. But still. What happened to all the candy?
Ken: I left some packets of Swedish berries on the counter for you. Just because you ate them already, don’t get mad at me.
Me: No, you didn’t. There were ZERO packages of any type of decent candy on the counter.
Ken: Yes, I DID. They were right there…
Titus (clears throat): Ahem. I thought those were for me.
Me: You ate my Swedish Berries?
Titus: Were they yours? They were delicious.
Me: Were there any Fuzzy Peaches?
Titus: There may or may not have been some Fuzzy Peaches.
Me: Dammit—I love the Fuzzy Peaches!
Ken: What happened to the wrappers? I don’t see them anywhere.
Titus: Oh, you’ll be seeing them eventually. Trick or treat.