So today I went to the dentist.
This might not seem like a big deal to y’all. In fact, for a lot of you, I’m guessing a trip to the dentist is no more of an event than going to get the oil changed in your car or buying a new pair of shoes. That is to say, its falls under the category of routine maintenance for your life.
But you see, I haven’t been to the dentist in a while. A long while. An amount of while that would be considered obscene by many people.
Yes yes. I know everyone puts off going to the dentist. You’re supposed to go every six months, or a year. But you forget, or you avoid it, and one year stretches into two, or three, or five.
But, as with all things, I’ve taken it to the next level. For me it’s been so long that I can only dimly remember the last time. My last dentist was a huge Italian man with fingers like sausages. He looked like an honest-to-god mobster, and when he mentioned that I wasn’t flossing, it sounded like something out of the Godfather. Like if I didn’t floss, he was going to send someone around to my house to straighten me out….
Also, the brand name of the little workstation they had next to the chair? “Cavitron” I shit you not. The thing was called The Cavitron.
It would be funny to say that that experience traumatized me, and that’s why I haven’t been back for so long. But the it wouldn’t be the truth. I thought all that was funny as hell.
The truth is, I just never think of going. And when I DO think of going, I worry that when I show up they’re going to say something like, “Well, it’s too late. Our only option now is to surgically remove your whole mouth in the most excruciating manner possible.”
So, of course, it’s easier to avoid the whole situation.
How long has it been? It has been, at my best guess, eleven years. Maybe twelve.
And I don’t floss. At all. It would be impossible to floss less than I do, unless you somehow invented a machine that made negative flossing possible.
So, to cut to the chase, I went in to the dentist and got to experience the new tool. Apparently that sharp metal pokey thing was getting blase. Now they have much cooler high-tech version of that. It combines all the pokiness of the metal tool, with a tiny spray of water and a feeling like…
You know when someone runs their fingernail over a chalkboard and you feel it back in the base of your neck. It’s like that. Except it’s the pokey thing and my teeth making the noise. Huzzah for science.
But deep in my heart I know I’ve earned this. This is Penance. It’s fair. This poor hygienist wasn’t planning on dealing with this today and they probably scheduled my cleaning thinking that they’d only need the regular amount of time. I can’t blame them for being a little rough and a little hurried.
Still, part of me wonders if there is an upscale dentist option out there. I mean, I don’t think Brad Pitt goes in to the dentist and has someone scrape away at him like this. It’s just undignified.
Anyway, it’s good for me. Not only because my teeth did need cleaning, but because I haven’t practiced my Buddhist meditation lately, and I typically only do that in situations like this.
Here’s my philosophy. Any wanker can meditate at home, listening to Enya and sitting on his yoga mat. That’s for sissies. You managed to clear your mind from all distractions? Wow. Congratulations. You want an organic, sugar-free walnut and raisin cookie to celebrate?
Me? I’m badass. My thought is that if you can relax, clear your mind, and contemplate the four noble truths while someone is drilling your teeth, then you’ve got your place in the universe pretty well sorted out. Meditating while under extreme conditions is like going running while you’re wearing leg weights and occationally stopping to have a fistfight with a shark. Except, y’know, with your brain.
So I meditate in the dentist’s chair. I meditate while flying through a thunderstorm sitting next to a mom with a screaming baby, while getting stitches with no anesthetic at the doctor’s office, and, once, in the fourth row of a Gwar concert. Keep your circle breathing to yourself, hippie. I’ve got so much pranjna I don’t even know what to do with it all.
And the end of the story? I’m fine. No cavities. No trouble. I’m the first to admit that this little story would work better with a moral at the end. But that’s just not the way some stories actually happen.
Goodnight everyone,
pat
