Karen has been spending quite a bit of time at the dentist’s, lately. Lounging, most likely, in the dentist chair. Rocking out to some dope beats. Or receiving dental treatment. She will be getting a crown. Maybe even a gold crown.
And this pimptastic dental imagery has me thinking back to my first visit to a dentist in London.
Shortly after I arrived in London, I was still having my dental work done in Canada. I had a good dentist there, and British dental work has a … reputation.
So when I broke a tooth while eating eggs (yes. eggs. I don’t understand, either.) I had no dentist to call upon. Also, it was a Saturday. Also, most dentists aren’t open weekends.
I needed a dentist. I needed them on short notice. And I needed them on the weekend.
Luckily, in a city the size of London, all things are possible. And this particular need had a place where it could be met. A place on Baker Street.
And so I found myself at 11 pm on a Saturday night in a full waiting room on the second floor of a building in Baker Street, surrounded by the saddest group of people that I have ever seen in a waiting room, before or since. I was nervous. It may take a distressing situation to get a person to a dentist’s office on a Saturday night, but these people were uniformly depressed. What was going on?
Eventually, it was my turn. The receptionist led me to a room with the usual dentist set-up within. I sat down. I waited.
About five minutes later, the dentist burst into the room. It was an entrance.
He was wearing a fur coat. He had designer stubble – the kind that looks like he set the electric razor to “rustic”. And he had two dental assistants, both of whom were female, blonde, over six feet tall, and looked like they should be on the runway in some weird dental-fantasy fashion show.
This man (with help from the two ladies) was about to fix my teeth. I became even more nervous. Never before, or since, have I received dental treatment from somebody who came across like a pimp.
The story would end best if I came out with a mouth full of gold teeth. But happily, this is not the case — the fur-clad gentleman turned out to be a competent dentist. But I am happy to report to have never had to go back to that strange world again.
Image found at dentist.tumblr.com. Origin uncertain.