View from the Dentist Chair

I knew it was going to be a weird dental visit when the first thing I saw upon sitting down in the dental chair were Halle Berry’s bare breasts. There she was, smiling at me from the TV screen, a white toothy grin that seemed to say, “look! No tartar build-up!”

Let me back up a minute… I am not, generally, offended by nudity in film, but I do have an ever-growing list of people with whom I do not wish to share such moments, including: my parents, my students, first dates, religious figures, and dentists. I had a momentary flash of panic imagining the dentist scraping at my teeth with his metal tool while on-screen Halle Berry and Hugh Jackman frolicked naked in their hotel room.

Then again, it had been a shameful two years since my last visit to any dentist, so I sat back and thought “ok, maybe this is how we’re doing it these days,” followed by “what sort of office is this anyway?” and “what have I gotten myself into?” which soon led to “how do I get out?”

But back to the chair. Not long after the exposure, Ruth the technician came to take my x-rays. Zap. Zap. Zap. Zap. Easy. Quick. Painless. She told me she’d return in 10 minutes after she developed the film, and meanwhile Dr. Nab would be in to see me. 10 minutes later, she returned. 20 minutes later, they moved me to a room across the hall. “This one has a video camera—it will be better for your exam,” which of course led me to question “what exactly are they planning to videotape” followed by a panicky “why do they need a camera to show me my teeth” (it had been two years, after all—so who KNOWS what evils were lurking in my mouth).

30 minutes later, Halle Berry was dead, Hugh Jackson was being held hostage in a bus suspended sideways hanging from a helicopter over Los Angelos, and I had yet to lay eyes on Dr. Nab. The technicians (of whom there were at least 6 or 7) kept stopping by to tell me I was doing a great job of being patient and ask me if I needed anything. I declined, never wanting to inconvenience anyone else.

45 minutes later I met Dr. Nab, who swept in, poked at my teeth with his gloved hand, proclaimed “nice teeth” and then proceeded to tell me that if I didn’t mind waiting 20-30 minutes, they could clean my teeth today because there had been a cancellation. “But… but…” I sputtered, shock surely registering on my face. “I thought you WERE going to clean my teeth today.”

Dr. Nab looked at the computerized appointment schedule over my head. “You are only scheduled for an exam today.” I was at a loss for words, trying to figure out what I should have said to accomplish my goal: you know, the part where they go scrape-scrape and presto—teeth get clean. Should I have scheduled an appointment for a “cleaning” instead? What did I say? What did THEY say? Where was the linguistic break-down in communication here? And then, 47 minutes from when I first sat down, I told the dentist that yes, of course I would wait.