MAN WITHOUT A CAUSE

I have a funny kind of bad luck with all sorts of medical practitioners, ones that prod genitals, bums, ears, but this one was a mouth-prodder of the dentistry kind.

 

I have always loved dentists; my dentist for the last forever has been the same cuddly, balding, baby-powder smelling, sweet sweet huggable man. The last time I went to him, though, he was a bit distracted and aged and didn’t really do anything and so my lifelong attachment to him was severed.

Then, a few days before a trip overseas, the toothache fairy damned me and my very soul! The she-devil fairy cursed the 4 corners of my mandibled hole! With no over exaggerated description, I was in clear and present pain.

 

Near my house, having driven past it for almost 10 years now, is a dental surgery, an ‘In case of emergency 24-hour dentist’ and I was leaving in 2 days time. This was indeedy emergency time and it seemed like a lovely house on the outside and so I phoned and booked barely able to swallow my own saliva.

 

I arrived clock-perfectly, knowing that without fail, every practicer of medicine around the expanding universe, runs late, unless they don’t have other clients because they are so awful. He had another client and ran late, I was relieved.

 

Then it started, the chamber of horrors worse-than-a-ghost-tour-in-a-cemetery. Makes me gag just thinking about it. I followed him into his orifice-like-office. An old piece of material hung over the doorframe so as not to close the door and keep fresh air in, but right on the otherwise of this fabric, was the highway. Incredibly fresh.

 

As I sat in his chair I got a vivid and appalling view of thick dust glistening in the sunlight of the window-door thing and even more clearly, from under the chairlight. I should mention that my last trip to a dentist other than my old out-of-it man was in London, at a high-end highly-technologically advanced practice with a warm and intuitive man who just knew exactly what was wrong and why. I was now in a dentist chair made somewhere in the days when the Bible was first published.

 

I wish you could see my face while writing and remembering this: my nose is curled up and my eyes frowning with a stupid grin on my face, it’s like looking at a severed arm with maggots crawling on it and a man eating the maggots.

 

Also, I am a friendly person. Always. It’s a bad bad habit and has got me into trouble. And so even when I am slightly quiet or nervous or contemplative, I am still nice and do my best to make someone else comfortable. So I really was doing my level best not to show my shock at the state of the place.

 

Sitting in the chair I see paint-worn walls and weird memo’s stuck all over the place, not the usual certificated and accoladed wall one usually sees in the medicine profession. At least put up a Grade 4 Hockey trophy, anything! Anything to show me you excel at something! There was nothing, nothing but his kids’ pictures – sweet – but not what I wanted from a man who is about to touch my shallow insides. Still I forgave it, kept me gentle natural smile and waited for the treatment, while grimacing inside.

 

He told me to lie back and open my mouth, comforting – words I appreciate from both my boyfriend and a professional mouth person. He didn’t ask me what was wrong, that should have been my first warning sign. No, actually, the dangling fabric should have been my first warning sign. That should have been my tenth.

 

Jingles of metal pieces touching broke the silence and things seemed normal again. I have a firm belief that dentists and doctors alike should always ‘walk through’ what they’re doing, step by step or at least ask the patient if they’d like them to. Being that vulnerable to a stranger’s prods welcomes comforting imformation. With this man, not a word! Not a powerpoint presentation, not a little jig and not the slightest mention of any kind of brief explanation, NUH-THING!

 

He started dabbing an ice cold instrument, tooth by tooth, as he moved to the back I started wriggling a bit, knowing that the MAIN FUCKING REASON I WAS THERE WAS BECAUSE OF TOOTHACHE!!!!!!!!!!!!! I said uh-uh as he got to my back molars, and moved my head to get him to stop. Then, he did it, he placed his piece of frozen cold metal onto my back tooth and I sccreeeeeeammmed, I howled in a deep otherworldy state of pain. I don’t remember ever experiencing such an awkward sharp stab that felt like it went all the way to my unconscious core! The roar ended and I was gasping for breath and some kind of redemption from almost life-threatening discomfort that he had just caused.

And him? He humphed behind me, irritated that I, the patient was not having a jolly time in his irresponsible hands. ‘Let me try again’, he had the audacity to ask. ‘Um…my teeth are very sensitive at the back’ I reacted quietly, but quickly, my animal instincts starting to kick into survival mode. Try again! Are you out of your blood-stained cowboy-pyjama filled mind!!?

 

Ah, finally, a word of wisdom. A suggestion to take an X-Ray. Good fucking idea! Now that I’ve been dangled off a cliff by the salivating teeth of starving wolves, yeah, let’s take an X-Ray!

 

Oh, what a surprise, an old X-Ray machine that can only display images, but can’t actually print them. Very clever doc! So now a patient can’t take their X-Rays with them or show them to a qualified dentist and get the appropriate work done! An uncomfortable photo-taking time, the chords of the machine got tangled and I had to bend my neck in a mangle fashion. He pointed out various things on the X-Ray that didn’t mean anything to me, he didn’t explain anything at all, just used very foreign jargon with no explanation. I didn’t say anything. I hadn’t said much since the coma-inducing backtooth stab.

 

Then. The unbelievable happened.

 

After his totally uninterpretable X-Ray demo, there was silence, his back turned to me. I was kind of angry. I was kind of irritated. I was kind of in pain. And I was kind of getting impatient. None of which I let show, or so I thought. This man, turned around and started yelling at me! He accused me of judging him and wriggling in the chair! And how could he do his job if I didn’t do mine?! Oh he was angry, oh he was mad! He shouted that my teeth will cost me R16 000 to fix (+ $2500) and that he was the only one who could do it so I have to put up with him! So what, so he didn’t have a lot of awards or certificates or that it wasn’t a fancy office (these are his words now)! So what! Why should it make a difference!

 

He ended his rant and there was silence again. Have I mentioned that I am 23? This man was at least last forties, early fifties. Not really a point, but you see the oddity of this outburst. Also, I’m a pacifier, a conflict avoider, a I’d rather you think you win than us fight about it type of person.

 

I stood up and said quietly, ‘I am a new patient of yours. It is your job as a dentist to make me feel comfortable. It is your job to ask me if I’m ok, not the other way around. I came to you for a service, of which, you have done nothing useful. You hurt me and didn’t so much as comment. It is not my job to make you feel good, competent or secure, how dare you shout at me?

 

Silence again.

 

He sat down shaking his head. Then he put his head in his hands, I wasn’t sure if he was going to grab a knife or bash my head into the cupboard. Then he spoke, again. Gently. Peacefully. He said, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry I shouted. I’m sorry I took it out on you. Please forgive’

 

WHAT THE #$(&^% was I supposed to do!

 

I was on the verge of tears, an unlikely cliff for me to be on. What had just happened!! What?! What is going on!

 

Then I, and I am so angry with myself for this, so deeply angry, asked how much I owed him for the session. I was in such a weird headspace, I just wanted to get out. He said R760! (+ $100). For what? For damaging my teeth and my little fragile heart?! Ha! And for a pathetic X-Ray that he couldn’t even print and give to me! For what?! So I paid!! I know! I paid!! I’m so mad about it! The greatest character flaw of my life so far! I paid so I could leave! ARGGGHH!!

 

The weird thing was, other than the whole insane fiesta that had just taken place, was that he said I could pay him in his office through his Paypoint with my Debit card. So I did. On the way to the airport the next day, his secretary called me asking me to pay, I laughed and told her to speak to her boss, turned my phone off and thought nothing of it again!

 

Until…today.

 

I was in the shopping mall and I saw him. We walked past each other. I knew who he was instantly and I could see he didn’t recognize me at first, but greeted me with a smile knowing he knew me from somewhere. I stood at the bottom of the escalator as he got on it. And as the stairs went up, his smile slowly faded and he turned to look at me again with a look of absolute horror and despair. Because…we both knew what he had done.

Dates To Remember

I’ve been told a few times that I have a silly habit, that sometimes for no reason in completely the wrong situations, I just sit and snicker, giggling at my own thoughts, getting lost in ridiculous memories or imagining situations turning into circus-worthy events. This is the one that made me snicker today.

 

NIGHT 1:

 

There I was at the fancy pancy Edinburgh festival of 2 thousand und 7 with my very own show. How exciting, how lucky! Until, of course, one must hand out fliers, competing with all 2800 other shows. Upon the buzzy High Street handing out fliers, suddenly a very handsome Australian gentleman took a flier from my friend and my hormone controlled default kicked in. Ooph, he was hotty at first sight, a tall Matthew Fox-esque mancreature and lovely little ray of light in the dark dark world of flier-handing-outing-ness. Lettuce call him Johnny.

 

Oh Johnny. He was witty and clever and very charming. And I, ah yes, with my long eyelashes and convincing giggles, was guilty of the Flirt. Some may use the word ‘cocktease’, but there were no feathers I assure you. A harmless flirt, I swear.

 

What a first impression, what a match we were! But No! Tragedy! He was leaving the festival the next day and so took my number for one single night of hangout pleasure.

 

My dad had driven from London to see me and my show and so I was a very bad daughter and ditched my dad for a guy I didn’t know and wangled the use of his car at the same time. Bad child. Bad manipulative child. Sweet, kind father.

 

I picked him up and we went for a drive, I noticed he smelt a bit funny, kinda like a wet dog wrapped in a wet towel, but thought maybe he’d had a really long interesting day, walking from play to book launch to a meditation in the park. We parked. In a dodgy, no-one around parking lot, but we parked. The thing about new people and especially girls, is that something happens to the bod that causes a pathetic release of giggle-mones, hormones that just make you fuckin giggle, for no reason. Then your body lies and tells you that you’re falling in love and like this new manfriendbeast and want want want. But don’t be no fool no.

 

I found out he was travelling round the world. Oh romantypantic! Smell now totally forgotten. *Flutter flutter*. He told me he didn’t drink at all and I was super impressed after having seen many a man lose his face when liquor licks. Ah a sober man, how truly new age and liberating. Love, it must be! He said he was a ‘recovering performer’ – failed, recovering, whatever, but I didn’t think much of it.

 

He was talking a lot, though. A lot. Shutup new man, shutup and let me say something. Shut shut shut! I didn’t even get a sentence out, probably because I was so stupidly giggling at first, so I didn’t think much of it.

 

He was about to go to Berlin and joked about how cool it would be for me to be there, but I didn’t think much of it.

 

Then he mentioned how frustrating it was that we were stuck in a car with nowhere to go. Why God? Why would we need somewhere to go? Oh so innocent am I, giggle giggle. Because he wanted to bed me. That’s why, but no, no no no, I’m not that kind of girl, besides, I was sober and we had nowhere to go.

 

Eventually I got a little bored of jokes I’d heard before and awful impersonations that in any other situation would get shot by a firing squad after a paralysing-but-not-lethal electrocution. But he was hot and foreign and we were both in a new city, so, I didn’t think much of it.

 

And we did kiss, briefly. And I swear by Jehova and his merry men that this man had not had a cleaning substance of any kind in his mouth since I was bathed in placenta.

 

I dropped him off and all in all, despite the incessant talking, the should-be-illegal body odour and the possibly fly-infested mouth, I had a good time. I’m always up for new exthpewiences, besides, he was leaving the next day so I didn’t think much of it.

 

NIGHT 2:

 

Ah, a surprise from a ‘private number’ phonecall, ‘Hello? Oh hi Johnny, you’re still here? But why? For me? Oh. Oh my. That’s…nice. Tonight? Um…’ OH! DEAR! FUCK! I had lied the night before and told him how much it sucks that he’s leaving, because, I knew he was leaving and it was a nice thing to say. Silly silly naive girl. ‘I’m busy, I…have no legs or face, I lost it, I can’t, I’m dead, I hate cats, I…Ok Ok Ok, I’ll meet you.’ Wow, I was embarrassingly easily pushed over.

 

We found a lovely little bar. He doesn’t drink. I do. And thank god I’d had a glass of wine before, so I at least I had my sense of humour warmed for the proceedings.

 

Ooooh yes, by the way, he was wearing the exact (down to the underwear scrambling out the top of his jeans) outfit as the night before. Ah, but he is a traveller and so all would have been forgiven, but only now, OOOOnly NOW, the smell that no human should exude was so god forsakenly awful, that I think the rotting rats wrote a complaint.

 

After ordering his fruit smoothie (hoo-fuckin-ray), he started speaking…for over 2 hours. Timed, literally, on my mobile. And no, I didn’t stop him because I was sooo amused that I was in semi-impressed awe – and also my mind wondered off. I tried to count my eyelashes and pondered that a quarter times a quarter actually means a quarter of a quarter, but 20 times 20 doesn’t mean 20 of a 20, it means 20 20’s. Fuckin fascinating. I must mention that we did have a brief break so he could have a roll-up, where he managed to do a handstand on a public bustling Edinburgh festival street. And he refused to come down. No, he said. No. I won’t come down from my handstand. Look at me, look at me, look at me! So I went inside and waited for the proud handstanding man to return.

 

These are the things he politely confided in me. I share with you, as my gift to you:

 

- He doesn’t drink…because he’s a recovering heroine and ecstasy addict and alcoholic from the age of 15

(Oh. That’s ok. There are lots of wonderful recovering addicts)

 

- He only has 2 changes of clothes and wears them until they smell so bad that he absolutely has to do something about it.

(A traveller, marginally forgivable)

 

- He…hadn’t showered that day…or the day before, now that that he thinks about it

(Also, the travel thing and easy to overlook, but then…)

 

- He dropped out of school when he was 15

(Some of the most successful people didn’t finish school)

 

- He went to rehab for 10 months when he was 19

(At least he knew he needed help)

 

- He has slept with 65 women…

(Ok I guess. He must be very good in bed?)

 

- And 10 men

(Oh)

 

- Only 4 of those 10 were relatively pleasant

(Almost 40%, that’s a good average)

 

- He’s a male slut

(Nooo?!)

 

- I mustn’t worry because he has taken loads of Aids and other STD tests after all the injections from the Heroine.

(Whew, what a relief)

 

- He loves hard core stuff where he can completely dominate

(Everyone has a fetish of some kind I suppose)

 

- He worked for charities in London doing surveys on the side of the road

(At least it’s work and it’s for a good cause)

 

- He was suicidal while being a drug addict so at least gave him something to look forward to

(Heart breaking, have a hug)

 

- He’d love to see me in Berlin, but I mustn’t expect him not to have sex with other people before then…

(Ok thanks for the warning, I was really banking on your fidelity for our true love to survive)

 

- He went to clown school

(UNFUCKING-FORGIVABLE! FUCK FUCK FUCK What am I doing here!!!?))

 

It was the clown comment that drew the line.

 

He told me how much he knew that I would long for him when he leaves and that he’ll see me in Berlin in 2 weeks, that we may not have a place to stay there, but we’d have each other. (I’m not going anywhere near Berlin! I’m not even going to stay on the same hemisphere as you!!)

 

His last line? “I’m going to sever this umbilical chord and make it as least painful for you as I can”. WHAT #^&*(%% UMBILICAL CHORD? WHAT ARE YOU ON SMELLYMAN?

 

And with that, it was all over. It was an exthpewience alright. I must just say:

 

*Dear God and your Reindeer, I thank you and every force in the universe that I did not have sex with this man on Night 1. And THIS is why I don’t believe in one night stands, because you just never know if they went to Clown school