In order to fully grasp the terminology in this post, you must familiarize yourself with the first in the series of Princess MoMo’s Dentist Adventures.
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My six month oral kingdom cleaning was scheduled for November 2011. A series of events postponed this appointment. First, the dentist’s automated appointment confirmation system did not contact me in November. Then, when I finally got around to rescheduling in January 2012 and was driving to the appointment, the receptionist called and informed me that one of the machines broke therefore necessitating another rescheduling. Third, forgetting that it was a long weekend, I rescheduled to the Saturday preceding MLK day. It was a tough choice, but I decided to bail on that appointment once I realized it was a 3-day weekend and an opportunity for me to skip town.
FINALLY, on Thursday, January 26, 2012, the stars aligned in favor of my oral kingdom. The peasants would no longer be subjected to residing in the plaque pavilion. Once again, I headed to the dentist in hopes that the machines were fully functional. Unfortunately, small droplets of water were descending from the sky – a condition commonly known as rain, but often mistaken by my fellow road occupants as meteors and Tyrannosaurus Rex trickling onto their windshields and impairing their ability to reasonably operate their motor vehicles.
Unfortunately, small droplets of water were descending from the sky – a condition commonly known as rain, but often mistaken by my fellow road occupants as meteors and Tyrannosaurus Rex trickling onto their windshields and impairing their ability to reasonably operate their motor vehicles.
It became a race against time. Would I make it to my 6 p.m. appointment? Would the peasants in my mouth have to go another day living in tartar squalor? The digital time in the MoMo-mobile struck 5:55. I was getting closer, but not close enough. 5:58 p.m. 5:59 p.m. 6:00 p.m. and still not there!! I debated whether to call and inform the office of my lateness, but the memories of seemingly endlessly waiting out in doctors’ offices flooded my mind and I decided not to extend the courtesy quite yet. At 6:06, my pesky conscience kicked in, at which point I called to announce my imminent arrival. Yeah, my inconsideration lasted 6 minutes; I’m a total badass. I dial pad-ded not once, but twice. No answer. I thought to myself, “These motherfuckers better be there!” And, they were.
To my dismay, there were several others in the waiting area and I was asked to take a seat. At 6:25, the receptionist escorted me to the familiar backroom torture chamber. I sat in the victim’s chair and was delighted when she cloaked me in a bib that matched my outfit. In fact, the little watered down Listerine containing cup also matched my attire. (It’s the little things in life that keep me from going postal.) The peasants were due for glamour shots (read: x-rays). The receptionist said she wished she could perform the photography, but that she wasn’t licensed to do so. I said, “I don’t mind if you do it. It will be good practice for you and will get me out of here faster. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I’d do it myself, but I can’t teleport or move fast enough to press the x-ray button and get back in the seat in time for the machine to capture the image.” She laughed at me and left the room.
Around 6:30, I was greeted by another new face, the dentist’s. Now, my last visit to this office was also full surprises, too. At least this time I knew I was meeting with a new oral kingdom inspector; last time, the bomb was dropped when Father Time walked in and said he’d be handling my oral affairs. His age didn’t bother me, but I cannot say the same for his putrid breath directed into my nasal passage way. Each time he inhaled, one of the hairs in my nose died a little bit inside knowing that he would soon exhale his assault on it. The dental gods did not subject my nostrils to such agony this time around.
Each time he inhaled, one of the hairs in my nose died a little bit inside knowing that he would soon exhale his assault on it.
Instead, a young female dentist entered the room. (Keep your pants on, guys. This is reality blogging, not a reflection of your perverted imaginations.) Her eye lashes were striking. I thought, “Maybe she’s born with or maybe it’s Maybelline.” Either way, it was a good look. She shook my hand. [Side note: Handshaking must be eradicated. It is disgusting. First of all, the touching aspect in and of itself is disturbing. Second, people touch a lot of foul shit with their hands, like themselves. The transfer of foulness from one hand to another that occurs during a handshake is unsettling. I’m not a germophobe, but if I don’t know where your hands have been, keep them the fuck off of me. Third, it’s awkward. Do I look into the handshaker’s eyes or do I look down to make sure I place my hand in his/hers correctly? How hard do I grip? How many shakes and how long should it last? It’s freakin’ nerve-racking! Fourth, what if the handshaker has a death grip? One time at marine corps. camp (ok, it wasn’t really a camp, it was a recruiting station), this marine gripped my hand so fucking hard, I wanted to kick him in the balls. Seriously. I couldn’t understand why he would do that to my precious little fragile hand. I saw him a few months later and literally flinched when he went to grab my hand. I told him he was too rough the previous time. He eased up his grip. But, why risk it? To hell with handshakes!]
Now back to our regularly scheduled programming: Next, she began sticking the x-ray film
into my mouth. Let’s pause for a minute and discuss dental radiography. The x-ray film consists of square pieces of uncomfortable plastic that are unbelievably far from ergonomically 
designed. Come to think of it, a vast majority of the equipment utilized by dentists looks like it’s straight out of medieval times. It’s 2012, homies. Rather than the massive x-ray machine, painful x-ray film squares, and whatever the fuck the thing that holds the film is, isn’t there an app for that? Can’t Apple replace the x-ray with the iRay? I envision it as a mini iPhone-looking device with a dual facing camera that has radiographic capabilities. This is the way of the future, dentists!
Can’t Apple replace the x-ray with the iRay? I envision it as a mini iPhone-looking device with a dual facing camera that has radiographic capabilities. This is the way of the future, dentists!
After the peasant photo shoot, the dentist immediately put on a face mask blocking her mouth. Score. I would not have to inhale her used up potentially noxious oxygen! My schnoz thanks you for that, Ms. Dentist. She then began kneading my neck and throat. I wasn’t sure what this was all about. Was she looking for a rogue tooth that may have been exiled from the oral kingdom into the depths of my esophagus? Then, she made her way to the oral kingdom itself and summoned the help of her tormenting tools. The standard probing and prodding began. Surprisingly, she didn’t force me to open the gates of the oral kingdom that wide. My mouth was chilling at a comfortable degree of openness.
Once she finished whatever it is that dentists do in there, she reported that my teeth looked great (they’re sexy and I know it!) and there wasn’t much plaque or build-up, but that my gums bled a lot. All I could think was, “Yeah, bitch, you stabbed them repeatedly with your little dentist pitchfork utensil!! What do you expect? I am but a mere mortal and my gums bleed red when you harass them with sharp objects!”
All I could think was, “Yeah, bitch, you stabbed them repeatedly with your little dentist pitchfork utensil!! What do you expect? I am but a mere mortal and my gums bleed red when you harass them with sharp objects!”
I then asked her three pop questions.
First, did she recommend teeth whitening?
She said that my teeth are already very white and that there is very little in terms of long term study data regarding these bleaching processes. So, she advised against whitening.
Second, how staining to the teeth is red wine?
She responded that red wine generally stains the outside of the teeth, rather than the internal dentin. In other words, so long as one brushes his/her teeth, the staining is not permanent. Perfect answer.
Third, does she favor a particular tooth paste?
She stated that the toothpastes variations are just a marketing gimmick.
At the end of the Q&A session, she presented me with a goody bag. Have I ever mentioned that I love goody bags? Well, I do (unless the contents suck or it’s empty). I exited the torture chamber and went to the receptionist’s desk to schedule my next semi-annual appointment. I requested the same dentist. I then headed toward the door to leave the office. Instinctively, I flipped the lock on the door and then turned the knob only to find out I had locked the door. While the experience wasn’t as unpleasant as usual, I wasn’t trying to hold myself hostage in the dentist’s office. The receptionist laughed at me again and then I properly let myself out.
THE END.
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Related Posts:
Adventures at the Dentist: An intruder trespasses upon the oral kingdom
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