I went two years without a cavity. Now my dentist tells me I have a small one, have to go in next Friday to get it filled. Part of me wonders if I really did have one or if I just went too long without spending the extra duckettes at the dentist. I’ve been super good; I made a pact to no longer get cavities. I bought one of those Sonicare toothbrushes, started flossing, fluoride treatment on my enamel to strengthen it, going to the dentist every six months, stopped drinking non-diet soda or any sugar based drink…there is no way I should have a cavity. And the fact that it’s a “small” one and I only needed to schedule for a half hour is very suspicious to me.

I think the dentist is one of those people that sneak by on the fact that you don’t know shit about shit. My mechanic capitalizes off of my ignorance but he’s at least blatant about it. My dentist, I know realize, may just be one slick son of a bitch. If the dude wants to make money that’s fine, but don’t go shooting me up with Novocain and drilling holes into my teeth because you need some extra bread this week. I mean, tell me I need some super special breath treatment cause it’s kicking like Van Damme, I would most likely jump all over that, pay you your money, and won’t have to spend my Friday drooling.

I’ve always been skeptical about dentists; I think it’s safe to say most dentists hate me which is fine, I hate them as well. Every dentist I ever went to recommended I get braces.

“Nah, I don’t need braces.”

“Your teeth are growing in crooked and they’ll start to hurt.”

“No they won’t.”

“Yes they will.”

“Well, if they do start to hurt I’ll get braces.”

26 years old (27 in 16 days) and still no braces. And no pain. Don’t make me a metal mouth unless there’s no other choice. Metal-mouth…ah…Kindergarten. Metal-mouth, four-eyes…insults used to be so blunt and obvious. Ugly, hairy, stupid…we called it as we saw it when we were kids. But I digress.

My hatred for the dentist goes back to Dr. Kramer, my childhood dentist. I loved Dr. Kramer growing up, he was a cool dude. He had this big ass model sailboat in his office that my great-grandfather made. My great-grandfather! He was legend, his work proudly displayed in on of the only dentist offices in South Brooklyn. Everyone in our neighborhood went to Dr. Kramer. He checked us out, filled our pixie stick induced cavities and gave us lollipops, a practice that our parents never saw as extremely sketchy while paying for our fillings. Dr. Kramer was the man.

And then I started getting older.

I think I was around ten the last time I went to see Dr. Kramer. I had a “small cavity”, much like the one I have now, I assume. I sit in the chair; he does his little routine with the pick. Having had my teeth filled before, I know the procedure and begin to wonder why I haven’t been administered Novocain yet. Then, he skips the step where he takes the cotton swab and puts that gel on your gums and goes right for the drill, turns it on and moves towards my mouth.

“Dr. Kramer! What about my Novocain?”

That evil, hallow man turned to me with the gravest of faces, his soulless eyes penetrating my very soul. He holds the stare for a few moments before letting out a small chuckle, a reassuring smile. It reeked of falsities, he wasn’t happy, he wasn’t really laughing. His diabolical mind was probably thinking about my torturous squirming and getting was getting off of it. He delivered his response in a way that reeked of pleasure and drunken lust for masochist pain and torture.

“You’re getting older, it’s time to start acting like a man. You don’t need Novocain for a filling this small.”

I wasn’t a man. I didn’t need Novocain. Every ten year old wants to be a man, so I didn’t hesitate to agree with him. After all, he’s my dentist, he knows when I need Novocain and when I don’t And he knows when I’m ready to be a man, right?

Wrong.

It hurt so bad. I told my mom about it and I’m not sure where it went from there, I just know I never went back to Dr. Kramer.

read a book, fanboy: The Little Prince

turn off the metallica, fanboy: It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold us Back