Since 1992, I’ve been going to this caveman in Santa Monica, California, for my semi-annual dental check-up and exams. A few years ago I got my first five (FIVE!) crowns installed in my mouth. Wrecking balls and cranes and back-up beeping sounds emanated in and around the area of my jaws-of-life-opened mouth.
My dentist, I shall call him Dr. Hyde, kept a tray of chainsaws, power drills, and barbed wire on a tray next to him as he hammered and chiseled his way through my mouth. I was strapped down with thick leather belts and iron cage reinforcements because he had a “thing” about patients asking too many questions and playing with his tools and squirming onto the floor.
But when I moved to Sacramento last year, I had to find a new dentist, and I was a bit anxious to say the least. I mean, my old Dr. Hyde was highly regarded in his circle. He was the Dentist to the Stars. Or so he told me one day as he was hoisting me up to the winch while his assistant stood by with a fire hose.
My husband swore his dentist in Sacramento was the best, so I made and canceled twelve appointments before I got caught for the last time and was consequently dragged in for an initial cleaning. I was skittish and hid under the dental chair for most of the session, but he didn’t try to poke me out with a broom handle, like Dr. Hyde.
My second and most recent exam revealed a cavity at the base of one of my Dr. Hyde crowns and it was deemed in need of replacement. On the eve of my dreaded torture, I cried in convulsions, soaking my pillow as my husband tried to console me (did you know people still say, “there, there”?) and rocked me to sleep so I wouldn’t be a total mess for my crown procedure the next day.
By the time I left for my appointment in the morning, I realized that I am too old for this silly stuff and if dentists really are that bad, then they should be reported to the Big Meanie Dentists Watchdogs and National Powdered Doughnut Society, but I was going to need proof. So I brought my Signature Edition Inspector Gadget Spy Camera. Because dude…I had pictures to take. I was now on a mission.
Now, I don’t know anybody who who likes this kind of view:
Your palms are getting sweaty just looking at this ceiling, aren’t they? Well mine were too, believe you me, but then I thought of the children. And I couldn’t let Inspector Gadget down, could I? My country was depending on me, and I was going to expose them for the evil-doers that they are. Next slide, please.
Here I am, minding my own business, waiting for the evil-doer to attack his prey. You can’t see it in this picture, but I’m whistling and twiddling my thumbs. Just biding my time.
This is the dental office’s attempt to lull me into a sense of false security. Also? They failed to provide 3D glasses.
Nevertheless, I complied. But I kept one eye on this tray of torture:
and the other eye on this tray of torture:
So, for those of you counting at home, that’s TWO trays of torture!! No one has ever been able to withstand TWO trays of torture. But again, I was thinking of the children. My own pain didn’t matter. If my actions on that day saves even one child from the iron cage of cavity filling, then it will have all been worth it. Except for that two-faced lying brat of an eight-year-old, Frankie, who lives down the street from me. He can taking a wrecking ball to the teeth more than a few times for all I care, the little bastard. Now where was I?
Oh yeah, speaking of wrecking balls, let me show you the little corpse pieces that my new dentist yanked out of my mouth, although to his credit he didn’t use his foot for leverage. Which is a first for me.
At one point, everybody stepped out of the room, and I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist, I had to start touching stuff.
It’s a little difficult to smile for the camera when half your face is numb, did you know that?
Of course, duty called and I began snapping these unbelievably incriminating photos until someone walked in on me…
And that’s when the spit hit the fan. A whole team of masked marauders pushed me back and plastic and metal and porcelain began to fly around my face.
Oh, the humanity! How can you even stand to look at it? I’m not certain, but I think at one point, the dentist said, “Is it safe?” I wouldn’t quote me on that if I were you, though.
Also, don’t say anything until you hear it from the authorities, because what these evil-doers don’t know is that a certain picture as we speak is on it’s way to the Big Meanie Dentists Watchdogs and National Powdered Doughnut Society, and boy are they gonna get it. Just remember, mum’s the word, and you didn’t hear it from me. I can’t afford to blow my cover, although when Inspector Gadget hears about this, I’m sure he’ll be awarding me something fabulous and then the whole world will know who I am. Oh, well. The drawbacks of being a national hero, I guess.
Author’s note: I would like to say one true thing and that is that this was by far the best dental experience I’ve ever had. I mean, I’m going to call the novocaine shot “alleged”. Because I saw it, but I didn’t feel it. At all. Also? There was no temporary crown. The whole procedure was done in one visit, not two. And no gagging impressions or moldings, it was all done with a camera. What? You have this too? Why didn’t you tell me? All these years I’ve been getting tortured for nothing? Thanks a lot, people.