I’m about to write a short story which is a multilevel PSA (Public Service Announcement). I’ll explain what that means in a few minutes but first I wanted to mention a video I watched on Facebook a few days ago. It was a home video taken by Taylor Swift’s mother a short while after she’d had her wisdom teeth removed. She was a bit loopy, confused, and hysterically funny. I laughed along with everyone else until I sat down and started thinking about when I had my wisdom teeth removed. I’ve written about it in the past and it’s still funny now, but it wasn’t funny then as you’ll see.
It’s March of 1974, Richard Nixon resigned the presidency, gas is $.55 a gallon, and I’m getting my damn wisdom teeth removed. I’m a 28-year-old police officer who was being driven to the dentist by his wife anticipating I wouldn’t be able to drive home. The dentist puts me in the chair, fills me with an anesthesia, and removes the wisdom teeth. I woke up a short time later in a side room and had no idea who or where I was. I’m force-fed a painkiller that in company with the residual anesthesia left me a damn zombie. I’m loaded into my car and driven a short distance to a local drugstore to pick up my painkiller prescription and ordered by my wife to stay in the car.
It’s March and it’s cold so I turn on the heater, close the windows, and relax. But only for a moment. Being the conscientious police officer I was, I remembered that I’d left my loaded pistol in the glove compartment. I removed the pistol, popped out the magazine, and placed it in my pocket. So far, so good. Out of habit I took the unloaded weapon and aimed it casually at the end of my foot and dry fired. Oops, I forgot about the round in the chamber and being a relatively good shot, I hit what I aimed at. The bullet punched a neat round hole through the toe of my shoe, removed a small crescent shaped chunk from the side of my big toe, on through the floor of the car, hitting the pavement and ricocheting into the passenger side tire.
I was hammered and stunned all at the same time. The car was filled with smoke, I couldn’t hear a thing and found myself laughing hysterically. In fact, the sound of the shot in the car deafened me for about 15 minutes. My wife arrived, opened the door, and four or five F-bombs later finally asked me if my foot was okay. Of course, her first priority was the tire, seeing as it was her car.
The moral of the story is simple. First never, ever, handle a gun while “stoned” with legal or illegal drugs. Secondly, never operate machinery, vehicles, or small pistols while taking painkillers, and thirdly, never trust a smiling dentist or a soon-to-be ex-wife. That’s my tale of woe and my admission to sheer stupidity. I’m hanging my head in shame even remembering it again. It sounds just as stupid now as it did then. What was I thinking? I obviously wasn’t.
I’ve been writing so much lately about gardening and gardens, today it’s all about something else entirely. There aren’t many things in life that I truly detest but dentistry and visits to the dentist lead the list.
Since the age of 13 I’ve spent a large portion of my life in dentists offices thanks to my late, great BFF who knocked most of my front teeth out during a sandlot football game. That was back in the day when no one had mouthpieces and if you took a shot to the chops there were serious consequences. Ever since then it’s been one thing after another with my teeth. For more than 50 years I’ve had a series of plastic and metal bridges of one sort or another thanks to an one carelessly thrown elbow.
Just recently my dentist of 14 years decided to divorce his wife, leave town, get remarried, and retire. He was courteous enough to send out forms to all of his patients which released our records to the new dentist we’d be using. Being a good little boy that I am I filled out all the release forms as directed and sent them back, waiting patiently for them to arrive at the new dentist’s office. They never arrived. I attempted to make telephone contact but his former telephone number was no longer working, the office was no longer open, and that SOB had moved away and left no forwarding address. Thanks a lot doc.
So today I’m making my second visit to my new dentist and I have to start all over again because my records are no longer available. Lucky me. A week or so ago I went in for my initial consultation with my new dentist and had to fill out more paperwork than I care to tell you about along with some teeth cleaning, teeth scanning, and x-raying. A second visit was scheduled where I would get up close and personnel with the new dentist where he could explain to me all of my future options to regain my pearly smile. That visit is today.
I’m really not looking forward to being filled with Novocain and to have three teeth rebuilt and then to pay my portion of the reconstruction of $250 out-of-pocket. Then I’ll have to sit through a 45 minute consultation where my new dentist will explain to me just how screwed up my mouth and teeth are and how much it’s going to cost for new bridgework and additional repairs. I can already feel his hand reaching into my back pocket in an attempt to remove all the money from my wallet.
So I’m just walking out the door now to begin my day of fun. If I had all of the money I’ve spent on dentistry over my lifetime I could probably buy the state of Maine and put a fence around it. I’m stopping for now but I’ll return in a few hours to complete this post.
Time passes . . . . .
It’s now three hours later and I’ve returned home. The left side of my face remain somewhat numb while allows to to droll at any given moment. I’ve been drilled and poked and then drilled some more. As I was escorted to the door I was permitted to pay a couple of hundred dollars out-of-pocket and then given more options for my next visit. Option #1 will cost over-and-above the insurance coverage . . $600.00. Option #2 cha-chings up to $1500.00.
Another "Storm of the Century" is upon us and since this is the third one in the last twelve months I guess we should all be hiding in the root cellar (if we had one). Weather forecasters in Maine don’t do much more than repeat whatever is relayed from the National Weather Service and then hope for the best. Maine is so lame at times they look for any excuse to exaggerate the facts and use all the panic inducing buzz words to scare the crap out of the uninformed.
Having lived in Maine for more than ten years I thought there could be no surprises left for me. I’m able to translate their weather speech almost immediately and then go on about my business. Unfortunately I underestimated them again.
My better-half arrived home from work and immediately began explaining to me the grand weather controversy being discussed by the local media. They seemed to be all pissed off that the National Weather Service has begun naming large snow storms as they do for hurricanes. Maine is such an important place in the grand scheme of things (sarcasm) that they feel they should be permitted to name their own storms. I hate to even think what those names might be. Something really sophisticated yet down to earth (more sarcasm) like Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John. They may be right in their thinking however because who in their right mind would name a storm Nemo? Only the all seeing, godlike government of the United States could be that lame.
After giving it some thought my better-half and I decided that the so-called Maine weather experts really shouldn’t be permitted to name them either. So effective immediately this “Storm of the Century” will be named by the two of us. Let’s just call him JOHNSON. Read into that what you will you bunch of perverts. We ended this terrible controversy in less than two minutes with no help from either the government or the state of Maine’s weather idiots. Come on JOHNSON.
Now on to something really important. I had to go to the dentist today. A trip to the dentist for me is always an adventure since the age of 13 when playing sand lot football my best friend knocked most of my front teeth out. That required two bridges and a few false teeth which have plagued me ever since. My mouth is similar to having a old car and it requires much more maintenance. I could have bought at least three new cars over the years with what I spent on dental work. My dentist’s office is a family concern with my dentist the father, the hygienist is his ex-wife, and the dental assistant/receptionist is their daughter. Over the years I’ve become good friends with them all and it’s been a real hoot but the bottom line never changes. As nice as they all are I still hate going to the effing dentist.
After injecting me with enough Novocain to keep my face numb for a week he proceeds to do what I hate the most, drilling my teeth. The sound of that high-speed drill makes my skin crawl and if I never heard it again it would be too damn soon. Also if he honestly thinks that shooting cold water down my throat is helping me breathe he’s very much mistaken. Not only is my face numb but I think he’s subconsciously trying to drown me.
After a few kind words and a pat on the head I was escorted to the door, given a new tooth brush, and my next appointment date. Thanks for nothing Doc. I drove straight to the closest Dunkin Donut where I ordered a hot coffee and a sandwich. As I left their parking lot I took a quick bite of the sandwich and that was mistake number one. My mouth was still so numb I almost bit off the end of my tongue. I was forced to pullover to compose myself and check for damage. A few miles and a few dozen curse words later I opened the coffee container, took a giant swig, and burned the shit out of my mouth and tongue. I also scorched my crotch a bit when I spilled the coffee there too. I finally arrived home, sat down in a nice soft chair and refused to eat or drink anything until the feeling returned to my mouth and tongue.
How can people think storm JOHNSON is the big deal. It’s all about me and my trip to the dentist. People are so self-involved at times.
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