Every six months Allie and Julia show up at their dentist. The
role of their dentist has been played by three people (that I’m aware of) – the
handsome, young newbie, the beautiful, all-business partner and the patriarch
of the entire operation. Most of the time, the old guy is the one who flies in
at the end of a cleaning to take a quick glance into my kids’ mouths and then
provide Deb or me with a lightning-round consult.
He’s kind of creepy. But we’ll get to that.
His office has a movie theme. At the entrance there’s a
ticket booth. It's occupied by what looks like one of those puppets law enforcement
uses to convince second graders to stay off meth and avoid men in vans who ask for help looking
for lost puppies. There are movie theater seats and a large-screen TV playing
the latest Pixar release. Off to the side, there’s a PG-13 waiting area that
screens more intense films like “Batman Begins” or “Marathon Man”. . . Okay, maybe not “Marathon Man”. But I’d love to see
a kid walk to his/her exam chair after seeing Laurence Olivier repeatedly ask
Dustin Hoffman, “Is it safe?”
The top dentist has a staff of at least five people working in reception
and four hygienists and three other people who seem to help out the hygienists.
They all wear matching scrubs. I asked someone behind the reception counter what
the color rotation was. He told me, “Tuesday is red, Wednesday is blue, kind of
like this pen cap.” He turned to the woman sitting next to him to get
confirmation that he properly characterized the color. She gave him an
approving nod. “Thursday is black and Friday is true blue which is kind of like
the end of this pen.” The woman next to him repeated the nod.
When they’re ready, they lead you back to a row of six exam
chairs. Each has its own monitor on the ceiling so patients can watch the same
Pixar movie that was playing in the reception area. That’s the part that really
makes me jealous when I compare my experience at the dentist. I want to watch “Big
Hero 6” while my gums are poked, prodded and scraped.
You hear the hygienists ask the parents the same questions. “Have
there been any health changes? Is she on any medications? Has she committed any
felonies since her last visit?” When you give them the answers they want to
hear they go to work on your kid. This last visit I watched Julia’s feet. She
was slowly waving them back and forth while she waited for the first dental
tool to make contact. It was clear when things got uncomfortable because the
waving would get faster and faster until the hygienist would notice and ask if
Julia was okay.
Allie has three years of dental experience on Julia. I
listen to her ask the hygienist questions that wouldn't occur to me to ask about her dental
health. I’m sure soon I hear Allie ask, “Are you sure you want to use a C-1
scalar for this? I’d go with a G-11.”
Next, from out of nowhere, comes the dentist. He spends around five minutes
stirring a mirror and dental probe inside my kids’ mouths while speaking code
to the hygienist. The hygienists strike a balance between chit chat and
complete reverence during these five minutes. I’m almost surprised when the
dentist doesn't pat them on the head when he’s finished.
It’s never as if I
believe he doesn't care about my kids’ teeth, but I can’t help but sense the vibrations
of commerce when I’m around him. It’s clear I’m getting a carefully timed two
minute follow-up after the exam that maximizes his turn over. I can’t help but
see him in a captain’s hat, laughing hysterically behind the wheel of his yacht
as he steers it around some crystal-clear Caribbean bay. It’s all just kind of
creepy. It’s as if he sticks a straw in my neck and sucks out a little bit of
my soul - like I’m a juice box with a dental plan.
I’m not complaining too much. The girls like going to the
dentist, or at least they don’t seem to mind it. The free dental gear and a
prize at the end of their visit helps. I noticed this time Allie skipped the
prize. She used to always get a huge ring or a fake bug.
Julia picked out a parachuting alien.
I'm happy when I get to see her perform. And when she's not onstage, I get to make up stories about all the other kids I watch play. Depending on the length of the song, some of them get pretty elaborate. This evening I had one of the cellist overcoming drug addiction after he invents an ergonomic cello bow and pitches his idea on "Shark Tank". He winds up rich and alone. I see him as he plays his cello in his big, empty house trying to recapture the joy he experienced performing with his high school orchestra.
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