Two weeks ago I received a call via my cellular from a strangely familiar number. I cautiously, as is protocol for me in these situations, slid the green flashing bar on my iPhone to answer the call. “Hello… Mr. Riviere?” an aged secretarial voice questioned.
“Yes, this is Andy Riviere, how may I help you?” I asked hesitantly.
“Hello, this is Sue from Plum Grove Dental. I am calling to confirm your appointment with Dr. Luke tomorrow at 6:30PM.” She stated officially then paused for my confirmation.
At this current time I had been suffering the tail end of a cold, which had manifested its self… at this point… with a barking cough that would make grizzly bears shit them selves blind in fear. I had already coughed my 84 year old neighbor half dead for 4 nights in a row.
I explained my coughing attacks to the secretary and made it known that I had no intention on spreading this virus to Dr. Luke. To this she replied kindly, “you know they wear masks? I am sure they would be just fine.”
Of course I knew they wear masks, this would be the third siege on my mouth in 3 months. She wasn’t getting the point, she needed it put plainly. I put the asshole hat on, “I don’t want to cough and have a drill go through my mouth because that would hurt, so lets reschedule.”
Today I found my self leaving the office at 5:30PM to make a 6:30PM appointment with Dr. Luke. Traffic sucked on Willow Road, nothing new there. It had been a busy day and quite frankly the idea of getting drilled lost its appeal when involving ten fingers and a diamond tip drill spinning at 400,000 RPMs tearing my teeth to shit. (your car does 12,000 RPMs, then probably blows up)
I arrived two minutes late, still had to wait in a room designed by the worlds most uncreative man (no woman could fail this bad in decorating) and was then escorted by my hygienist to the dungeon. My mother, as it turns out, was also getting her ass kicked by Dr. Luke in the next room. This made me slightly happy as she often bragged of having perfect teeth.
I was placed in a room with one window and a lethal injection chair. In front of the chair was a picture of a bear cub on two legs in a tall prairie field staring at the photographer. I couldn’t help thinking that the camera was a scope and the bear cub met its’ maker shortly after the shutter closed. Kind of like a before and after shot… smile.
I sat getting my teeth drilled and accidentally water boarded by a very attractive but new assistant. I am certain that the ray gun she kept shooting in my mouth was fake, which was good news because God knows how much damage she could have done with a real one. Thats all I have to say about her. Oh, and she was Russian- score!
After a 40 minute session and falling asleep once in the chair, I arose numb mouthed and dazed. The bear cub stared as if judging me for what just took place. If that bear cub wasn’t shot dead after that picture, I vowed right there to finish it off during my next holiday.
I paid an extraordinary $400 dollars, praised the invention of dental benefits and ambled to my car with the words “rinse please,” playing over and over again.