There are a few types of appointments that can really put a damper on a given week. One of those would be an appointment to get something amputated ... huge downer. Luckily for me, I have all of my appendages - but I had an appointment this week that is a close second to losing a limb: a dentist appointment.
I don't think I've ever come across someone who would say, "You know what, I want to go to the dentist and let someone I barely know stick sharp objects in my mouth and watch me gag on my own blood-riddled saliva. Sounds like a great Monday." The unfortunate aspect about dentists is that, in my experience, they are nice men or women who absolutely mean no harm. But I'd be afraid of even Gandhi if he had a high-powered buzzing drill aimed at one of my molars.
Being a townie, my dentist's office is so close that on more than one occasion, I've had to walk to and from drillings ... now that's a serious walk of shame. With all that said, let's count down the top four reasons of why dentist appointments are so awful:
4. The first reason is more of a personal injury story as to why dentist offices make me cringe like a father seeing his daughter on a Girls Gone Wild "Barely Legal" tape in a room full of buddies.
One day in my youth, I was riding my pimp Huffy bike (complete with front and back pegs) when all of a sudden I went over a pothole and was thrown headfirst over the handlebars. Having no broken bones was a blessing, but I landed teeth first on a sewer cover.
My front two teeth were demolished, almost as if I decided to smile an instant before hitting the ground, leaving a few Chiclets on Century St. (Just picture teeth grinding on pavement - and I bet a solid 90 percent of you just made audible groans of pain.)
I don't want to ruin anyone's day with this story, but let me just say one tooth looked like Lloyd Christmas' from Dumb and Dumber (1994), and the other was chipped directly in half with some nice nerve endings dangling in the wind. Just writing that sentence made me almost vomit on my keyboard. That trip to the dentist still haunts my townie dreams to this day.
3. The next issue I have with going to the dentist is the awkwardness of trying to have a conversation. At the doctor's office, talking isn't an issue - questions about life and college are easy to answer when they're checking my blood pressure or ears (although conversation stops the second I have to turn my head to the left and cough; this is non-negotiable).
At a dentist office, there are many more obstacles for having a normal conversation.
First, their hands are prodding in your mouth with instruments that could be used for medieval torture, and any syllable uttered could lead to a punctured tongue. Second, topics like college or family seem relatively moot when the dentist regularly says, "OK, now you can spit up your blood and saliva ... how's your mom?" And third, you're drooling more than a fat kid at a bake sale.
2. Another problem I have deals with Novocain. I despise needles immensely and the only shots I'm comfortable taking in my mouth can be found at Tavern on the Hill.
The numbness of the Novocain is at first a funny and welcomed result, but it's not until you leave the dentist that it starts to become annoying. It is extremely hard to eat without eventually chewing on your tongue, and now you have a legitimate reason for having a drinking problem.
Talking is a complete waste of time too, giving me a cute little speech impediment: "I wuv the Wed Soxsh sho mush."
1. The number one reason has to do with the age-old question: "Have you been flossing daily?"
This query is basically the bane of my existence. If you floss regularly, more power to you, but my gut tells me many of you are lazy like me when it comes to this chore.
The thing is, dentists know this. They have to. When my dentist flosses my teeth, my mouth looks like a war zone with the amount of blood that comes from my sensitive gums.
It would be nearly impossible for me to say I floss daily, yet each time I lie and say something like "As much as I can with my busy schedule," when we both know that, being a townie , the only floss I've seen recently was in the g-string of a stripper at The Foxy Lady for a bachelor party.
Pete McKeown is a senior majoring in English. He can be reached at
peter.mckeown@tufts.edu.
