According to Webster, the word “dentistry” means, “the science of the care of the teeth.” However, in my mind “dentistry” can be accurately defined as, “a form of torture originating from none other but the Devil himself, who happily perishes at the gates of Hell.”
The state of my mind is a solid one. I can deal with just about any amount of external pain; stab me in the arm with a tetanus shot, draw a pint of blood, or even sew me back together, I’ll watch with awe and interest. But once the Calvary of picks, probes, spears, and crossbows make themselves present, the panic in my brain begins to rise.
A recent trip to the dentist confirmed my theory that while the Devil was leaving Georgia he “accidentally” left the bow to his fiddle behind. And that bow was found by a southern man who sold his soul by brushing his tooth which then turned to gold.
From that point on, dentistry has originated into a practice in which it is okay to repeatedly poke the same tender spot and never apologize, shove string way past its stopping point, and treat every patient as though they were six years old.
“Ssscccrrreeechhh! Scratch. Scratch. Sssccrrreaacch!”
The sound of metal on a tooth, supposedly cleaning, does an outstanding initiation of sharp fingernails on a chalkboard. The ear cringing sound always sends a shiver down my spine. The force applied by the “trusting” hand of the dentist always prevails as the pick slips… OUCH!
A pause, no words exchanged, and then back to work.
“Screeach! Scratch. Scratch. SLIP STAB! OUCH! Same stupid spot!
A simple apology is all anyone wants to hear… “Sorry,” would cut it. But that just seems to be too much to ask for from the “doctor.” Instead he’s too amazed with the gushing blood that is probably oozing out of the patient’s gums, which he has successfully stabbed twice. The rest of the check-up continues with more gum-jousting, and is followed up with a versatile vocabulary of “Ooos, Ahhs, and Humms.”
After the patient’s gums have been abused to the point of a domestic dispute, the dentist insists on polishing the teeth, not with the aid of a tooth brush, but with that of a miniature sander on a stick. The only mission the polisher ever seems to accomplish is to shove dried toothpaste into the little cracks and crevices between the patient’s teeth, to the point at which the only solution is to call on the god of woven strings, who is better known as Floss.
The flossing cycle always seems to excite the dentist to the point which he forgets his own strength. He wraps the string around his fingers tightly enough to cut off a blood vessel which has to somehow connect to his brain, because a few of the patient’s teeth will inevitably be flossed twice. Once the floss breaches the teeth, the dentist always seems to forget the fact that it’s smooth sailing from there and continues to thrust the floss downward into the already tender gums. Another round of “Ahhs, and Humms,” escape his mouth as the dentist watches the string fill red with blood from the geyser that he has just created.
Once he has worn out the three sound vocabulary, the dentist can’t help but resist impersonating the narrator from the History Channel and tell the patient that their gums need some work, and they have a slight case of gingivitis.
“In other words,” he goes on, “the little germs that survive from the routine of daily brushing make a home under you gums and make them sick and weak.”
The urge to reach out and strangle the guy is succumbed by a respectable smile and nod of the patient who is well over six. Not only did he torture their gums and make them appear to have gingivitis, but he had the nerve to flaunt his commonly known vocabulary and even dumb it down for the sake of his patient. Honestly, though, I do believe dentists make it simplistic more for their own uses, because once they sold their soul to the devil to become a dentist, their brain abandoned ship for a better life.
