I hate the denist. I'm saying that as a general statement of course, I'm not singling out one dentist. It's more like I dislike the chance I'll be in pain and not "Don't you hate Bob! He's always like.."Oh I'm so great, I'm a denist!". Got it?
Going to the dentist has got to be the most hated appointment you can make, at least when your not one of those flossing suckups who take YOUR appointment just so the hygenist can fawn all over their whiter than a Pat Boone Christmas special teeth. Shitheads. For guys like me who have teeth only a member of ther Royal Family could love, it's a nightmare.
For starters, I have more metal in my mouth than the entire audience a BET award show (Hey-Oohhhhhh!!!). My visits usually involve some bad news. This last time I went because I was experiencing some pain, off and on, in one of my molars....or was it a bicuspid.....OH NO, maybe it's an incisor. Let's just call it what my insurance company calls it, a deductable.
So the dentist (f*ckin BOB!!) tells me I need a root canal.......followed by a temporary crown........followed by a REAL crown. The temporary thing kills me. I still haven't had that one explained to me. They don't do that with any other part of your body. Your heart doesn't go and some doctor says "We'll need to wait for a transplant for you, in the meantime, I'm installing this veal in your chest".
So I go home to decide what I'm going to do. One, two....four years pass and it starts to hurt again. Now I'm in a new job with new dental benefits which I see as a blank check. "Crown? Sure.....gimme one of them gold ones like P-Diddy has". So I schedule all THREE procedures. I show up at 7am in the morning for this and they take me right in. As soon as the doctor shows up he starts to prep me and the area he's going to work on. Part of this is him (not lying) shoving a 3" square piece of rubber down near my windpipe. I, being the pain in the ass patient I am, start to gag. And what a pain I am, imagine, he needs to shove a rubber square RIGHT WHERE I AM BREATHING and I make a fuss. I mean really. He then has the nerve to ask me "Do you gag easily?". Nope, I'm fine. Why don't you shove a few tennis balls in my mouth to see how I do then.
So he procedes on without the big square rubber sheet and roughs it. Then my favorite part of drilling begins, and by that I don't mean the bullshit lie that if we drill in the Gulf tommorow that means $1.00 gas the next day (Oh no you didn't!). No, I mean the rancid odor of burning tissue. That's gotta be the worse smell ever. When I tell you I gripped those arm rests like they owed me money, beleive me. I was as steady as a rock......I kept going to my happy places.
Next stop, temporary crown. I'm already researching a way to get Nike to sponsor it to cover my deductable. If it's "temporary" why not a nice Nike swoosh on it!