I sat back in the chair at my new dentist's office and sighed, prepared for the worst. The last time I had gone to the dentist was before I became a student, back when I still had dental insurance. As I waited for the dentist, it quickly became apparent that something wasn't right. The chair, something was wrong with the chair. Was it...was it...massaging me? Indeed it was; rollers moved back and forth between my shoulders in a soothing motion. The technician came in and picked up the remote to the flat-screen t.v. "Any particular channel you'd like to watch?" she said. "Oh no, this is fine," I said, and settled in to watch stand-up on Comedy Central as my teeth were X-rayed, then scraped and polished.
It would have been a nearly perfect dental experience if not for the final diagnosis: two cavities, one old filling that needs to be replaced, and one freak tooth that for no apparent reason at all has lost its desire to live and is well on its way to a root canal. Did I mention I have no dental insurance? And all the advances in dental chair technology in the world can't really change that.
Still, though, at three bucks a pop, I figure I only need 499 more free tooth brushes and maybe we'll come out even. (The good kind. Oral-B!)
In short, I hate my traitor teeth, but I love my new dentist. Now don't forget to floss, guys. For the love of pulpy, non-calcified root mass, please, don't forget to floss.