Dental Plaque And The Sugar Doughnut

I’m sure this has happened to everyone. There no point pretending that I’m the only person in the whole wide world this sort of incident has happened to.

There I was, innocently biting into my (tenth) gulab jamun while watching Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen on my laptop, when a shooting pain in my teeth forced me to drop the bowl of thick sugar syrup all over my bare legs. Nothing fell on my the laptop (which is in perfect working condition Apar, don’t worry) thankfully, and I spent the rest of the morning cleaning the room and myself. Only later did I realize that my teeth need checked my a dentist.

So, that evening, I walked over to a nearby clinic and got an appointment for later the same evening. Ignoring the bad sentence construction, I walked in at the appointed hour and sat on a plush couch, reading a copy of the latest Outlook and getting rapidly bored.

I must have dozed off because the receptionist shook me vigorously and told me that the doctor was ready for me. In my groggy state, I yawned and mumbled, “Finally. Thank you,” when she slapped me hard. I was stunned. I held my cheek where she’s slapped me and said, “What did you say??”

Now, a normal human being would’ve asked this before slapping someone, but she was, I guessed correctly, a rare find.

“I said ‘Finally, thank you’ ” I told her angrily, still clutching my face.

“Oh!” she said, eyes widened in shock and apology. “I thought you said ‘Fuck you’. You mumbled so I couldn’t hear properly! I’m sorry! I’m really sorry!”

Leaving her in the subservient state, I walked into the dentist’s room. He was sitting in the center of the room on a stool, placed in front of a horrifying dentist’s chair, which had all the evil accouterments one usually associates with the murderous, villainous doctors in horror movies – gleaming silver instruments that were sharp enough to rip someone’s brains out through their noses. I gulped and stood there.

He saw me clutching my face and said, “Hurts, does it?”

“What?” I said, confused, and realized that I was still holding my face. I quickly put my hand down and said, “No no, your receptionist slapped me just now.”

He didn’t seem surprised. “Third one today,” he said resignedly. “I ought to fire her. Anyway, take a seat, please,” he said pointing to the torture chair. I looked strangely at him and sat down. He said, “Okay, let me see…” and shined a flashlight into my mouth and peered around. I could see the bright overhead light and the dentist’s masked silhouette as he assessed my dental strength.

“There’s some plaque,” he said. “I’ll get my associate to do something about it,” and he walked out, leaving me in the chair, mouth open, with a torture device sticking out of it. I twirled my thumb and waited until a short, stocky woman came in and started poking around in my mouth with a metal device that hurt like hell.

Five minutes later, it was all over and she announced, “We’ve removed the plaque. That’ll be 1200 bucks.”

So, I paid up and walked out and I couldn’t help but feel that I’d been cheated out of something. As soon as I stepped out, I saw the brilliance of the dentist’s business plan – his clinic was right next to a bakery! I could see breads and cakes and doughnuts calling out to me from within and cursing my weak will, I went in and bought a fresh sugar doughnut and bit into it. Just as I was about to wipe the sugar crumbs off my face, the short, stocky woman dentist walked into the same bakery, bought some sweets and gave me a knowing smile and walked out.

“Bastards,” I said to myself as I walked back home, enjoying my doughnut.

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