I had a rather odd feeling as I walked in to the office, at the ungodly hour of 8 AM.  (I had 4 diffeent alarms for that one – 7 AM is just too early for musicians).
The wallpaper was peeling off the walls, the carpet was worn and ancient, and the place sort of smelled, well, different. Normally I don’t notice such things, but there were no trashy gossip mags to read, so I spent the time in the waiting room looking around with trepidation.

Rather later than 8, a bossy Russian lady showed up, ignored me for another many minutes, then finally told me to go down the hall to the only room on the right.

On the left, there were two rooms – both open. One of them must have, long ago, been an office, but now was a makeshift storage facility for plaster casts of a few thousand folks’ mouths. They were on the desk, on the shelves, on the floor and the chairs like some sort of forgotten graveyard of teeth.

My anxiety increased somewhat.

I sat in the ‘chair’, and was told by Bossy Lady she would be doing Xrays. I am used to Xrays being quick and painless  – a small paper thing on which you have to bite down, and then, the other side!
Well, in this case a monstrous piece of dirty looking plastic was brought out, and a film inserted. I stared for a bit, wondering how I could possibly get that into my mouth, when she brought around the Xray machine itself – some sort of Soviet era possibly brain cancer-inducing massive contraption of rusted metal. I opened wide, and this plastic thing was shoved into my mouth. I gagged, but experience told me it would be only twice. I started to worry when she only moved it a tiny bit, and then went into the other room again.

Seems as though, for some reason, this particular practice feels the need to Xray every single tooth individually, with a tongue depressor Xray module that cuts in to the back of one’s throat and makes one want to puke. It was all I could do to keep from completely yakking. Good thing it was so early (no breakfast!). I guess I have 30 teeth, but we had to do at least 40 because of my convulsive movements.

A teary eyed hour later, we finally got around to the cleaning part, which, as we know, is necessary every so often – one can only do so much with brushing and flossing!

As this was happening, I started to hear a strange noise from the other (non-tooth graveyard), room. At first I thought nothing of it, but as it became louder, I grabbed the gleeful hand of Bossy Russian Lady so the drill cleaning thingy would stop. I realized it was a man screaming. I listened in horror for a few seconds, then yelled “Omigod! We have to help him!” only to be stuffed back into my chair by B. R. L. who explained ” dyah, dyon’t worrrrry, hyee is jyust hyaving an impryession done’.

I started to wonder how many screams were silently emanating from the tooth graveyard-office.

Just before I bolted, the dentist himself made an appearance. The screams had stopped. He looked to be about 70, with a greasy comb-over, dandruff, a massive pot belly, and hair growing out of his ears. Both of them told me to stop squirming, but I was really just trying not to ingest seborrheal epithelials. He told me my teeth were fine.

I took my leave as soon as possible, with clean teeth and a queasy stomach. The receptionist asked for my number so they could remind me to come again in six months. I told her not to worry, that I would certainly remember, and darted.

That visit, which nearly made me lose it a myriad of times, and was disgusting, at best, cost me nearly 600 dollars.

The same thing, in Canada, at a lovely place with super nice folks, costs $160-190. I realize there is a difference in rent between a New York high rise and a small town in Canada, but I figure for that price, the New Yorkers could at least get some equipment from this century. And maybe close the freaking doors.

It seems to be worth the trip home.