When You Go Away by Jessica Barksdale Inclan

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Powell's Books

I know hating the dentist is a cliché, but even though I hate going to the dentist, it's not because of traditional hating-the-dentist reasons.  It's not because of pain or painful implements.  It's not about insurance imbroglios or cost, either.  I actually like the slightly painful edge of a very clean mouth, the crack of dentist-type toothpaste in my mouth for the hour after a cleaning, the crunch in my skull.  I also happen to have very good teeth--not really pretty teeth--but very healthy teeth that (knock on porcelain) haven't necessitated procedures that involve the words "root," "canal," or "drill."  I also have excellent dental insurance, so much so that I haven't had to think about who is paying whom since my children were in braces.

Here's what I don't like:  being held captive and talked to while I am literally unable to respond.

There I am, reclined, a bright light shining in my eyes, a masked woman asking me to hold my mouth open as she scrapes away at my teeth.

"I just hate Kathi Lee," she says.  You see, not only is she talking to me, we are watching Good Morning America or Emeril or some inane morning show.

Social norms suggest that I will try to answer her.  But it's hard to articulate a word much less nod with all this scraping and then sucking going on in my mouth.

"Mmmhmmm," I nod, the headrest turning my hair into a knotted mass.

This goes on for a good half an hour.  Mumble, nod, inane conversation.  I understand that she needs to have come interaction at work, but really, I have nothing to say.  I actually can't say anything.  Please, for the love of all that is holy, stop talking.

Maybe I need to bring in a contract (along with the one I want to bring in already that stipulates a 50 dollar charge should the dental office cancel on me without 24 hour notice).  This contract states that all conversation will be one way.  I am not expected to converse or even pretend to converse.  Talk away, girlfriend, but mum's the word for me.

Jessica