Dental Damned

Any pussy can live-Tweet a trip to the garage. Now, infiltration; bothering people. That takes something else. Call it: Entitlement. Or whatever word means 'entitlement' and 'desperation' in one.

I believe I mentioned the toothache, which has proved to be a dull throb for me and a dull topic of conversation for other people, since I can't seem to stop mentioning it.
We've all got problems. What's the big deal?
I guess I just like chewing without having to think about it. I'm not one for ginger chewing.
I also mentioned the dental conference, right?
"Come all ye dentists!" they exclaim. "Collect ye your tote bags and don your lanyards!"
I passed a guy on the street holding a bag with Crest on the side of it and figured I was on the right track.
I entered the Delta Hotel, where they still are as I type this, and quickly dug up a notepad (my book is missing). Hotels are all notepads. Then I kinda...wandered around and tried to look like I was just another guy in the lobby.
I saw them all, alright. Fat cat dentists throwing their heads back, guffawing with perfect crowns and impeccable molars. I envied their unhindered gums as I ogled all of the beautiful women who were milling about. Dental assistants, presumably. Not because they're women, mind you. More because dental assistants always seem to be attractive. Girls can be dentists, too. We all know that.
So, I sat in an armchair near some couches. A fellow with puffy hair sat across from me, a bored-looking gentleman with his name tag. Immediately beside me was a middle-aged woman who had a Padma Lakshmi smile, face and body. That's a great woman to share a smile, face and body with.

I was working up the courage to utter, "Err, excuse me...are you a dentist?" but I just couldn't do it. When I was young I almost seemed to enjoy embarrassing myself in front of attractive women, but these days I have more shame.
"I'll bother the guy," I thought as I took a deep breath.
I was expecting the process to be really easy, but I was surprised at how shy I was once I got there. These were all dentists and who was I? Obviously, some guy who didn't brush properly. Now, here I was crashing their one opportunity a year to flirt and have sex with someone besides their wife.
"Can I ask you a personal question? Are you a dentist?" Yes, he was a dentist. "Well, I've got this toothache..."
I told him the whole thing and he got me to prod under my jaw and answer several questions.
The resulting diagnoses: My tooth is fucked, basically. Extraction or root canal. Hockey player or a guy wearing a barrel; those are my future choices.
He told me plainly, "A root canal will be $1000" I felt like saying that those would be Ontario prices (where he hailed from) and that everything is more expensive here. Just look at the price of broccoli, for Christ's sake.
Anyway, he told me about fluids and bacteria and was generally very nice about the whole thing, however  he wouldn't have me say 'Ahhhh!' He wouldn't go that far with it, but he certainly met me halfway.
So there you have it. You're never too old to bother professionals if you set your mind to it. That's lesson number one.
Number two: Get your teeth tended to while you have coverage, and brush out those sugar bugs.

This post brought to you by incisors everywhere.