Dentist. What a way to start your day, huh? There’s a moral to this story and it will become evident in a moment. Here’s the history.
Long ago, but not so far away three young men were wiling away the afternoon telling lies and imbibing their favorite adult beverages. After the lies ran out there was a shared desire to “Do something”. The cry that has rung out throughout the ages. Cries from young men’s throats. A cry that has inspired invention, conquest, war and in this case, general mischief. It was a sunny, summer afternoon. A road trip was necessary if imbibing was to continue. Perhaps some more lies would come forth if the oil that lubricates that machinery could be applied.
In preparation for the short journey to replenish the liar’s lubricant a plan for mischief and some minor mayhem was laid out during a quick burst of excited inspiration. The plan was to fill some balloons with water and dowse unsuspecting pedestrians we might find along the way. Our first, and as it turned out only victims, were three unsuspecting attendants at a local filling station, one that still pumped your gas for you. Driving by we noticed they were preparing to close for the evening and therefore probably needed a shower before going home. And we were all too happy to accommodate. There were no customers, i.e. witnesses, around so we started our move. I was driving while my two accomplices were in the bed of my pick up attempting to be stealthy. Slowly I drove into the station and approached the pumps. Two of the attendants stepped out of their little box falling headlong into our plan, waving their arms and saying loudly that they were closed. I didn’t care. That was the point. This was our plan. As I swerved to the left to avoid hitting the two young men who, after working around vehicles for some time appeared not to grasp the fact that cars and trucks cannot stop on dimes and hurt if encountered, my two compadres rose up out of the bed, weapons in hand and giving what I can only describe as a cross between a rebel yell and an Indian whoop if the Indian had just finished smoking several peace pipes in a row inhaling every puff, letting fly their weapons of minuscule destruction and hitting their targets full on as if those balloons were laser guided. Not wanting to stop my plan was to step on the gas and make our getaway, but something stopped me. No, the attendants had moved out of the way. What stopped me was the exchange of profane name calling coming from our targets and the response from the back of the truck. This was not as funny as we had planned. These guys got mad. That was not part of the plan. Who gets mad about water? Well, now pride was hurt, on both sides, and we all knew it had to be defended. As it happened the two smallest of either group squared off first. Our man was in no way trained in the art of self defense however what he lacked in training he made up for in heart. The rest of us stood back as the struggle began. From the looks of things, their guy may have had some training, or at the very least lots of experience in the use of fisticuffs and it was apparent to all, this was not going to last long. And it didn’t. Quickly and thoroughly dispatched our guy finished with a flurry of name calling and headed back to the truck. I think there was some blood showing. Thoroughly oiled I could not let my man be shamed in such a way so I threw out a bold and very loud challenge that I would not be so easily throttled if said young punk, or some such wording as that all intended to scare young pugilist into giving up the fight and going home to dry off , would try that on me. It was, after all, only water. But alas this one was very brave and he was not showing fear as he accepted my challenge. Being well oiled is good for telling stories and joking around a bit but it is a no, no if one intends to rely on one’s reflexes for survival. Knowing my reflexes may not match those of a man several years younger than me and I was sure unimpaired, my mind went into survival mode to strategize a plan that would allow me to end this quickly with little or no pain for myself all the while preserving my pride, which if I had stopped to think was already crushed, I just didn’t know it yet. A punch was thrown and by the grace of God it missed. In the same motion I wrapped an arm around the young man’s neck producing an inescapable head lock. The truck I was driving, a 1949 Chevy, had metal bumpers with a thin edge. As if in slow motion I picked up the bumper in my peripheral vision and envisioned a quick spin with a downward motion causing my opponent’s head to come into contact with the edge of the bumper resulting in instantaneous unconsciousness. Fight over, we drive away.
Somewhere in the movement my grip lessened or I turned the wrong way, it all happened so fast I don’t remember, but I ended up kissing the bumper rather forcefully causing the immediate extraction of one of my front teeth.
There actually was no pain but I knew something was terribly wrong once I noticed the large amount of blood coming from my mouth.
Defeated but undaunted we reminded the bully how childish it was for them to get mad over such a childish prank, just having fun man, and drive away.
The next morning I show up to work missing a tooth. Yea, everybody wanted to hear the whole story so I told it as accurately as I could remember. Somebody suggested that my dentist may be able able to put the tooth back in my head if I could only find it. I didn’t know this was possible and really didn’t believe it. So I called my dentist and explained what had happened, well not the whole story, all he needed to know is that I had lost the tooth and he confirmed what I was told and said to bring it on in and he would stick it back in. This left me with what I felt was my final barrier, finding the tooth.
Asking for permission to go look for the lost tooth, permission granted I drive back to the scene of the crime.
Two of our last night’s victims were working and upon seeing me drive up rushed out of their hut prepared for the worst. “Calm down” I said, “I’m just looking for my tooth”. Which I found! Lying right there in a crack in the concrete all in one piece, not a mark on it.
Gathering up the tooth and putting it in my pocket I said good bye to my new found friends and headed for the dentist.
Sure enough, after a root canal and much pushing, gluing and wiring my tooth was back, smile restored.
I returned to work and thought no more about it. A few days later I returned to the dentist so that he could remove the wiring and check the glue for hold. All was good.
Move forward 20 years and you guessed it, dead tooth came out. Once again my smile was incomplete.
Another dentist another solution. A flipper. An artificial tooth to fill the gap. This was a removable appliance and I found that I could push it out with my tongue so that just the one tooth hung out between my lips. Kids loved it and thought it was hilarious but it drove Annie nuts which is a sport for me but apprently I wore it out so back to the dentist.
“Yes, I can replace the flipper with a permanent bridge”, she tells me. “Let’s do it”, I say.
Move forward eleven years and a cavity has formed in one of the teeth the bridge is attached to so that’s why I was at the dentist this morning.
And now for a picture of today’s dessert.
Looks good doesn’t it?
Hope you all had a blessed day. Good night and God bless.
Hills Over The Road 