Say Ouch!

My dentists have generally been kind, friendly, affable people. That said, I hope they all burn in hell.

It’s nothing personal. I rarely dislike someone on a personal level, but when it comes to certain professions (i.e. dentists, bank tellers, certain teachers), these people can all just line up to bite me.

Anyway, yesterday I went to see my new dentist. I won’t implicate them by giving you their business name, but I will say that it included the word “Gentle.” This is a complete fucking misnomer. The word “Gentle,” could easily have been replaced by “Hideously Painful,” “Bloodbath,” or “Is It Safe?”

Let me just state for the record that my teeth are in good shape. I haven’t had a cavity in years, I brush twice a day, and I go through mouthwash like it was about to be prohibited in the Constitution. I’ll be the first to admit that I need to floss more and I could certainly eat fewer sweets, but otherwise my teeth do alright.

These people found new and tender places to hurt me. They chiseled away at my teeth like they were engraving a fucking granite cornerstone. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if today’s date was now etched in one of my molars. Then they used the patented “Hurts Like Fuck,” water pick. I didn’t think it possible, but they invented a water pick that not only sounds like a drill, but also somehow causes the same amount of pain. Then, at long last, came the flossing. I lack the words to properly describe this garroting, but suffice it to say there was blood. Lots of blood. It was like my teeth were watching Reservoir Dogs.

The dentist then gave me a handheld mirror, and pointed to a particularly brutalized portion of my lower front gums. She said, “See where it’s bleeding here, that means you’re not flossing enough.”

Without second thought I responded, “Well, for the record, that’s also where you’ve been poking those sharp metal things.”

She gave a giggle, took back the mirror, and wrote something on my chart. I imagine it was something like, “Hurt him more next time!”