The Dentist

Today is MLK day. Meaning, the kids are out of school, the mail doesn't run, and the banks are closed. A really great way to honor a really great man, if you ask me. But I digress.

I took the day off the to spend with the kids, and to take care of various and sundry appointments. These included, among other things, Daniel's check up with the dentist.

Daniel does not go to the dentist that the rest of us Malones go to. Our dentist is very easy-going, calm, gets you in and gets you out. Never anyone else in the waiting room to deal with. Great dental experience all around. And Daniel did go see him in the past. Until he got a cavity. At which point, said Wonder-Dentist referred us to a pediatric dentist, as D's mouth was "just too small for my equipment." Bummer.

So for about four years now, we've been taking D to his own special dentist. I'm not sure if this is the case with all pediatric dentists, or if we just won the insanity lottery, but going to this guy's office is always a freakishly surreal experience.

For starters, like many buildings in East Tennessee, the office is built into the side of a mountain. Which means there is only one window (the door) in the waiting room. The floor and walls are dark, so it feels very much like you're going spelunking when you walk in. The echoing sounds of kids bashing things together doesn't do much to dispel this feeling.

With great consistency, the adult to child ratio the waiting room is at least three to one. No kidding. For every kid in there, there's always something like a mom, a grandmother, and some random neighbor. What is up with that? I can't imagine going to the dentist with my neighbors.

The waiting room contains one bathroom. This room remains locked at all times. You have to obtain a key from the receptionist in order to get in. Said key is chained to some kind of dental device. I'm guessing it's a impression bowl, but it looks like a large, metal athletic cup. It reminds me of using the restrooms at service stations in the seventies, when they attached a tire iron to the key to keep you honest. What the heck kind of issues were they having to resort to these measures?

Apart from these three standard issues (it's always dark, it's always over-crowded, and the bathroom is always under lock-down) the insanity is different each time we go. Today's insanity included two floor-rolling children. They spent the entire time on the floor of the waiting room, rolling around. Now I'm no germaphobe, but come on. I've seen the caliber of people that hang out in there, and you don't want to be rolling around on the bottoms of their shoes. Their mom (beautifully adorned in a Troy Aikmen jersey, just a bit on the snug side, sweat pants, and biker boots) would periodically tell them to get up under penalty of a "butt-busting". It was clear by the kids' reactions (none at all) that this butt-busting was an empty threat and, while a mean dresser, their mom was no disciplinarian.

One of these kids eventually got up to use the restroom. After wrestling the door open with the key and the athletic cup, she proceeded to use the facilities, with the door wide open. And then didn't flush. Or wash her hands. Now, I'm no germaphobe, but come on.

Then began the consult. This is also a fairly standard occurrence - the nurse brings the kid back to the waiting room and takes the parent/grandparent/friendly neighbor into the "consult room". Unless the consult room is occupied, or if there are so many people in the waiting room that the door is blocked, in which case they just have the consult right there in front of God and everybody. Today's consult involved a kid who had experienced some blunt head trauma over the weekend and was now missing a tooth as a result. They could not find the tooth, and were concerned that he might have swallowed it. So the mom went into elaborate detail about how she was "watching for it." Deliver me.

Even Ben, at only ten years of age, observed when we got into the car, "That place is always completely NUTS." Yes, but what a really great way to honor a really great man.