It wasn’t really tense. That’s just a poem I wrote using only the letters of the word “dentist.” I think I left some of it out.
The dentist visit was tense in those moments when the drill and its noise, and the sharp objects plunging into my face caused me to tighten up. He asked if I was feeling pain. I was not feeling pain, just anxiety and rebellion. I’d make a horrible cocksucker for as much as I hate having foreign objects thrust into my mouth. I did not say that to the dentist but I probably could have. He seemed pretty mellow.
With this job I got the impression I had to switch dentists. So last year I went to an office in Midtown, where I was warned that my teeth are weakening and will likely deteriorate without $12,000 in emergency dental work. Dental insurance at this job, said to be one of the job’s greatest perks, barely covered anything. After some kind of bad-aid application which cost ~$4000 insurance would not even cover the routine cleaning.
It wasn’t just the claims I needed extensive dental work. I didn’t believe that to begin with, but I did appreciate what they did with my front teeth, at least. They looked bad from bruxism but the happy face she put on them will last, she said, for 15 years. She said it like it was a sad bit of news but guess what, I don’t ewxpect to make it another 15 years so that news is just fine by me.
It was just the whole attitude of the place. She accused me of not going to a dentist for 10 years. I told her that claim was total bullshit, my last dentist cleaning was 8 months previous and, pre-oandemic, I’d been pretty much on schedule for checkups. But she stood by the accusation, needlessly antagonizing me with other comments about how I’ll be eating pudding and porridge the rest of my life.
Just not a nice, ingratiating medical professional who, by the way, wore flip flops to one of the procedures she performed on me. I ended up in her office because insurance here made it look like I would not be able to continue with my regular dentist on Steinway Street.
After the dentist I wandered, desultory, to nowhere in particular, ending up at Queens Place Mall where I boarded a Q53 SBS to Cooper Avenue. Weather has been unpredictable, staying cool and cloudy and kind of depressing. Cooper Avenue is where the Archie Bunker House is located. I did not seek it out. I’ve seen it enough. The area also features a DETEX WATCHCLOCK STATION inside the front gate of St. John Cemetery. I did not check in on that object, despite my fascination in finding them. I considered entering the cemetery for their usually-available bathroom facility, and to check on the payphones inside the mausoleums. It is still possible one of those phones could come back to life but chances are not favorable.
All told I had no reason to be in this area. I looked for pizza but found none, ending up procuring that fine bit of culinary crustiness at the overpriced Sbarro at the Queens Place food court. It burned the roof of my mouth, which was still smarting from the dental invasions of sharp objects and drills. The dentist said he would recommend a deep cleaning, which would require sedation. He also will put in for a mouth guard, though insurance will probably reject it. That, specfically, was one of the promises of this job: that dental insurance would cover all costs for a mouth guard. I don’t know if that was a lie or if this is one of those situations where you have to aggressively be your own advocate to get what you deserve. During Covid my bruxism was out of control. I used store-bought mouthguards but I think they actually made things worse, contributing to grinding the snot out of two teeth and having them extracted. That’s the first real sugery I’ve ever had.
After the mouth-burning pizza at Sbarro I caught a Q53 SBS back toward Woodside. The bus was idling past its departure time because the MTA cops were actually checking peoples’ ticket receipts. This activity delayed the bus’s departure long enough for me to get on board. I only see MTA cops (or whatever they are) going after fare evaders on buses. I never see it on subways, where virtually every single time I swipe my card someone next to me jumps right over or shimmies underneath the turnstile. It is disheartening and enough to tempt me into being a criminal like them. But I remain honest, despite its expenses.
