Meh
There. Second post, just as foretold. *Sci-fi music*
This one will be much less happy however. Warnings to any who may choose to read on. This = rant. I don't expect gushings and the like. Just need to write something. And so...
So. Two dentists in one day is apparently a bad idea. I did good with the first one. Even though he poked and prodded, I was good and held still and said 'Mmmhm' and 'Ok'. I left, after only a half hour in the chair when it was an hour drive one way, got back here and posted. Things were good then. I had a new estimate, I hadn't killed the dentist. Yay me.
Then three o'clock rolls around. First, I couldn't find the place. This may seem like a minor detail, but I like being on time. And I hate dentists. So being late to the dentist = bad. Anyway, that aside, I could have dealt. But the nurse woman who I handed my folder to stood there the entire time I filled out paper work, just staring at the lists and x-rays and what-not. Yes, my teeth have some issues, issues that I'm working to get fixed. This doesn't mean I want someone staring at my facts and figures like I'm some sort of circus side show. No, my teeth aren't -that- bad. They're not falling out. They're not green. But she made me feel like a specimen.
Paper work all filled out, I proceeded back to The Chair, that evil thing that the dentist likes to strap you into while swinging about drills and metal hooks. (Can you see my love for these people?) So I then proceeded to tell her about my bad dentist experiences. Which she was quiet for. She did mention it to the dentist, which I appreciated. In fact, from then on, the visit would have been alright. Had it not been for a few small things and one big thing.
He looked over the x-rays, hmmmed a little, then, of course, asked to see my teeth. That's what dentists do. Dentists do not, however, ask 'Do you do drugs?' Now, are you like me and asking what hte fuck? Here's the conversation:
EvilDentistMan: Do you do drugs?
Me: Um... no..
EvilDentistMan: No? *Critical unbelieving look* This happens to people's teeth who do Meth.
Me: I don't do drugs.
EvilDentistMan: Hmm. *Ponders x-rays*
Me: *Tries not to cry*
EvilDentistMan: Are you sure you don't do drugs?
Me: Yes. (Don't you think I'd know if I did drugs, asshole?)
~Ten minutes later, after a lecture on the evils of soda, breath mints and my obviously poor concept of oral health~
EvilDentistMan: So, you don't do drugs?
Me: -.-;;;;
Ah, the fun that that was. Seriously. What kind of question is that? Then he asked me if I sucked lemons. I didn't know whether to take him seriously or believe that he was hitting on me in some weird old-man-dentist sort of way.
After that, he proceeded to compliment the good bone structure of my mouth, and how nice my teeth were, besides the few cavities and what-not. Bi-polar? It played hell with my emotions.
Finally got everything done, got my estimate, had to PAY for it, which the other one didn't make me do, took my papers and left. And proceded to cry most of the way home. Yes, I cried. I rarely admit this. But I was pissed, mortified and feeling like shit. And so ends my rantselfpityfilledpostofdoom.
And for everyone who didn't read that, thank you, since I probably don't want most people to know anyway. Ja, ne.
This one will be much less happy however. Warnings to any who may choose to read on. This = rant. I don't expect gushings and the like. Just need to write something. And so...
So. Two dentists in one day is apparently a bad idea. I did good with the first one. Even though he poked and prodded, I was good and held still and said 'Mmmhm' and 'Ok'. I left, after only a half hour in the chair when it was an hour drive one way, got back here and posted. Things were good then. I had a new estimate, I hadn't killed the dentist. Yay me.
Then three o'clock rolls around. First, I couldn't find the place. This may seem like a minor detail, but I like being on time. And I hate dentists. So being late to the dentist = bad. Anyway, that aside, I could have dealt. But the nurse woman who I handed my folder to stood there the entire time I filled out paper work, just staring at the lists and x-rays and what-not. Yes, my teeth have some issues, issues that I'm working to get fixed. This doesn't mean I want someone staring at my facts and figures like I'm some sort of circus side show. No, my teeth aren't -that- bad. They're not falling out. They're not green. But she made me feel like a specimen.
Paper work all filled out, I proceeded back to The Chair, that evil thing that the dentist likes to strap you into while swinging about drills and metal hooks. (Can you see my love for these people?) So I then proceeded to tell her about my bad dentist experiences. Which she was quiet for. She did mention it to the dentist, which I appreciated. In fact, from then on, the visit would have been alright. Had it not been for a few small things and one big thing.
He looked over the x-rays, hmmmed a little, then, of course, asked to see my teeth. That's what dentists do. Dentists do not, however, ask 'Do you do drugs?' Now, are you like me and asking what hte fuck? Here's the conversation:
EvilDentistMan: Do you do drugs?
Me: Um... no..
EvilDentistMan: No? *Critical unbelieving look* This happens to people's teeth who do Meth.
Me: I don't do drugs.
EvilDentistMan: Hmm. *Ponders x-rays*
Me: *Tries not to cry*
EvilDentistMan: Are you sure you don't do drugs?
Me: Yes. (Don't you think I'd know if I did drugs, asshole?)
~Ten minutes later, after a lecture on the evils of soda, breath mints and my obviously poor concept of oral health~
EvilDentistMan: So, you don't do drugs?
Me: -.-;;;;
Ah, the fun that that was. Seriously. What kind of question is that? Then he asked me if I sucked lemons. I didn't know whether to take him seriously or believe that he was hitting on me in some weird old-man-dentist sort of way.
After that, he proceeded to compliment the good bone structure of my mouth, and how nice my teeth were, besides the few cavities and what-not. Bi-polar? It played hell with my emotions.
Finally got everything done, got my estimate, had to PAY for it, which the other one didn't make me do, took my papers and left. And proceded to cry most of the way home. Yes, I cried. I rarely admit this. But I was pissed, mortified and feeling like shit. And so ends my rantselfpityfilledpostofdoom.
And for everyone who didn't read that, thank you, since I probably don't want most people to know anyway. Ja, ne.