Stay In Your Lane Humor

My Dentist Thinks He’s A Comedian

Please save me Ms. Pandya

I had my annual this morning. I never know whether to look forward to these sessions or dread them. Every time I arrive for an appointment there’s a different hygienist. They all have a different style. So I have to mentally prepare for anything.

Some hygienists have the sweetest bedside manner. But then they get into your mouth and the real Nurse Ratched appears. Others have the softest touch, and are so fearful of hurting you. It’s like they’re in there spreading icing on a cupcake. And it’s just your job to lick that peppermint cleaning paste off your lips when you’re finished. Some ask you what flavor you want. Some don’t even give you a choice.

I never know what to expect. I just try to mentally go with the flow.

I adore my dentist. Best dentist I’ve ever had in my life. I wrote posts about her and yelp reviews. I went into community billboards where new-to-the-area neighbors were asking for dentist recommendations, and I recommended her. Even featured her in a poem. She clearly explains everything — options, and how to consider those options. And her technical skill is unparalleled. So I was surprised today when I showed up for my cleaning and she wasn’t in the office.

This office is full of women. The days last year when I went to have work done and there were no men in the space? That office was humming with positivity and productivity. Masks and temperature taking and sanitized pens? Pshaw. We make soup out of shriveled veggies from the bottom crisper drawer. This ain’t nothin’.

Today, something seemed off.

The hygienist du jour greeted me in a bubbly fashion, like she was welcoming me to Disneyland. A little too ebullient for 8 a.m. Just more evidence supporting my theory about the Forrest Gump School for Dental Hygienists. Another molasses cream-filled when I really wanted a buttercream.

She went on and on about how her mom’s side was Italian and her dad’s side was German, so I felt compassion for her existential threats. She told me a story about her mom wanting to replace the carpet in her home and an argument ensued. What does this have to do with my gums?

She asked if I flossed daily? The required inquiry.

I nodded yes as her dainty latexed finger grabbed my tongue and moved it around like a piece of sirloin. I fought back the onset of a panic attack, having that image.

She tried to hard sell me on the flouride “painting” treatment, trying to close the deal with a “but it’s up to you, really.”

X-Rays, Cancer Scan, all looks good! I hear the numbers 1, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 1, 1, 3, 2, 1, 1, as she moves her Shiny Gingiva Device of Probing around the gums to assess for periodontal disease. I’m feeling like I’m running for the end zone, and the football is firmly in hand.

I don’t even follow football.

Then she spills the beans. “Dr. Nick will be in to see you and then you’ll be all done.”

“Dr. Nick? What happened to Dr. Pandya?”

It really didn’t matter what they said next, all I heard was “a;soij;oifjao9jif;oiahw;efoihaw;oihfdaej;wo’;ijfoiaije af;oiaoifa a0o;ijf aw0jvfi;uha;98whef;9oianv,” as I tried to make sense of why she would no longer be in this office, and how I would manage to survive the rest of my life without her as my dentist, this Goddess of the Tooth Kingdom, this 5 out of 5 on any social media registry Guardian Angel of All Things Dentin and Cementum.

As I sat with my funk, in walks Dr. Nick. He holds his tiny hand out and says, “nice to meet you.” It’s a really tiny hand. “Haven’t we just escaped from the era of tiny hands,” I’m thinking?

I reach out for his hand, thinking, I don’t know where that hand has been. Is he COVID free? Why would I be thinking that thought in a dentist’s office patient chair? The distrust is hovering around my space like a summer fog over a lake. I reach out to shake his hand, and — there it is. A wimpy little shake. Like you’d get from a 3 year old the first time you asked them to shake the nice new neighbor’s hand.

NOOOoooooooooo! This cannot be happening!

He turns his back on me and looks at my chart, briefly. He asks me, “Do you have any diseases, conditions, anything we should know about?”

I know that stuff is in my chart. Did he even look?

“Nope, I am currently free of any and all diseases.”

“Ah, I see,” he says, “Do you want some?”

Okay, maybe I was influenced by my having just finished watching W. Kamau Bell’s wonderful 4 episode mini-documentary, We Need to Talk About Cosby, but it felt like he was trying to push something. But what? Flouride? Dental Floss? Quaaludes?

“Want some what?” I queried.

Slow to the punch line, I filled in the blank. My blank. “Diseases?” Pause for the laugh track. Nope.

He couldn’t even laugh at his own joke.

I looked at him and said, “you know, I’m a comedy writer. And everything I see in the world has comedy gold in it.” This had teeth.

Dr. Nick considers that for a second, and asks, “So what’s the difference between a comic and a comedian?”

Fearing for his safety now, I just said, “Well, you know, there are stand up comics and there are comedy writers. And the stand up people, usually do just that, stand up on their feet and speak their comedy. Some of them write their own jokes. But many of them have a staff of genius writers, or at least one genius writer, who writes their jokes for them.” I offered up some examples I was familiar with.

“Oh,” he says, “so we might be in the presence of a genius here, then, eh?”

The women in the room are silent, listening to all of this. The storytelling and laughter that was happening in the space before Dr. Nick arrived has definitely left the building by way of the nearest spittoon.

He starts to probe my teeth, looking for occlusions and such, reporting the findings to the hygienist who is diligently recording. “Possible implant,” he tells her, and I think, “Dr. Pandya would know that. She’s the one who did that implant. In this office. Doofus.” The hygienist matter of factly points out to Dr. Nick that it’s on my chart. And on the X-Ray she just took. Which is on the live computer display right above the chart he looked at as he was asking me if I wanted some.

Finally, he finishes, stands up straight, and says, “Okay, honey. Everything looks good.”

The hygienist tries one more time to push the fluoride. I look at my phone and say, “nope, no time, I have to go to a Zoom and I have to drive home to get there.”

“It will only take a minute,” she says. But no. I insist. Gotta run.

I stop at the front desk, where the reception and billing staff has not turned over all year. I know these wonderful women. I’ve joked with them, told stories with them, and even read my poem featuring Dr. Pandya for them. So loving, so supportive. I asked them what’s happening with my favorite dentist.

“We aren’t sure really, we were just told that she was going in a different direction. Not sure what that direction is. Maybe staying home with her family? We just don’t know.”

“Well, I’ll miss her. Terribly. But good for her!”

And everyone sighs a little. We’re all going to miss her.

Because we can only take in so much honey before we get a disease.

I got home and wrote another 5 star Healthgrades review for Dr. Pandya. I hope she resurfaces soon.

Otherwise, I’m off to find another 5 star femme dentist.

Many thanks to Amy Sea and Andrew Rodwin for wonderful editorial suggestions.

More pieces featuring dentistry. One even features my spoken word performance.

Susan B has been writing comedy for about 2 weeks.