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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
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It's been a rough couple of days. Sunday I got through without any painkillers, unless you count Scotch.
Monday painkillers were definitely required, whether for the Scotch or my tooth is still undetermined.
The pain has spread, diffused, throughout my mouth. No longer just in the tooth, now it feels as though my entire mouth is stuffed with cotton, the feeling as if there were an electric current running through all my teeth, persistent headache, intermittent fever and cold sweats, it hurts to smile or in any way to contort my face.
I don't eat solid food. soft bananas, chewed carefully. Cold smoothies, blended, although I bit down on a still frozen blueberry and kicked loudly, cried softly for 10 minutes.
It's getting better.
But I have to see a dentist.
I have a fear of dentists. A phobia almost.
Funny, in that I've never had a bad one. They've always been friendly, jocular, attentive....
But their stock in trade is misery and pain.
They scold and chide me for smoking. I know, I know, but they do it every time. They promise me that for a mere $40,000 and visits every other week for the next 2 years I can have a new smile.
It's not going to happen. They live in some sort of imaginary world where everyone is a dentist, everyone earns what they earn, has the benefits they have.
I don't.
They talk above you, your mouth stretched open, slivers of metal stuck into the root of your tooth, talk about their weekend, the new Maserati they're going to buy, impervious to your pain,
You try to signal them, get their attention, but they assure you they won't be too much longer and keep talking. Inane programs on the overhead TV.
Meanwhile the freezing has worn off, the metal shards are nails hammered into your jaw and you toy with the idea of just biting down and running the hell out of there...
The metal shards would go right through your jaw, you could pull them out the bottom with pliers, and, hell, it couldn't hurt possibly any more than it's hurting now, could it?
Eventually, when you've moved into the zone of indifference and everything in the world is suffering they finish up, try to cheerfully rebook you in a few weeks, $1000, $2000 please, give you a free loot bag filled with floss and toothbrushes and little pamphlets...
They should be paying me.
And for the suffering, the hours of misery trapped in the chair, the days spent with cotton stuffed in your cheek, mouth numb (at best), expectorating blood, rinsing mouth with salt water, a headache the T3's can't seem to find, $10,000 wouldn't be enough.
They wonder why I'm not more regular.
It's been beef broth with overcooked noodles sucked down through a straw.
The kids, they understand that they have to just leave me alone, they don't understand the pain, cheerfully eating their little apples, crunching pistachios and potato chips...
I can see the offending tooth, the treacherous little maggot, hiding behind a clump of other teeth, pushed behind a lower canine. I should have had braces, they'd all be lined up in those perfect little rows, instead they look like they were fired into my mouth scatter-shot. Ground down from stress, stained with Nicotine, coffee, red wine, I am the embodiment of vices that are paying for my dentist's Maserati, second wife, child support and private schools.
I have to see a dentist. There's no postponing it any longer, the excuse (valid, they'd approve) of having no money no longer cuts it, I don't have the kind of money they'd like or understand, but enough to cut the pain, temporarily stop the agony, some mild preventative work because it's important I save the awkward and listing ivories I have left, would be better to replace them all with implants, every one of them, 4 in the top, 4 in the bottom, $5,000 per implant, $40,000, not a Lamborghini or Maserati but a down payment at least, hell, sometimes you have to save up for things you know, and here there's a weak smile from the dentist, laughing at his little joke...
I have a fear of dentists.
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
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I've a toothache.
Nasty, nasty toothache. And while I'm taking a veritable concert of medications (currently on the Scotch and Advil Mix), it's still there.
After you take the pill, an hour, maybe two, where you forget that it's there. Well, not forget, but you feel pretty good comparatively.
Then it begins to throb, intermittent.
Occasional waves of fever as the bacteria attack the body. I'm pretty sure I'll live but it's unpleasant nonetheless.
I swill my mouth with diet pop, salt water, Listerine, Scotch.
I can't brush, can't even think of brushing at the moment...
26 days until benefits kick in. I'm pretty sure it'll be gone in the next 2 or three days; but I have a huge phobia of dentists. Immense phobia. Early experiences with modern dentistry, all unpleasant, I'd just as soon see a barber or shoemaker for the extraction and necessary repairs. Couldn't hurt more and would probably cost a hell of a lot less.
So forgive me for not writing at greater length. I can't talk, I have a toothache.
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
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I overslept.
I never, ever oversleep on Garage Sale day, but I've come down with a major toothache, the extra-strength Tylenol's, Advil Gel-caps and bottle of Scotch only slightly numbing the pain, but such a fine buffet of painkillers did help me to sleep in.
Despite the late start a few worthwhile ones - hundreds dotting the city, but went for the area along the Elbow river - the first sale a bunch of interesting knick-knacks from South East Asia, picked up another Bali mask, similar (but not identical) to another one I have that took some damage in the move. And an X-box game and slingshot.
A few more garage sales, the treasure of the day proved to be a set of antique juggling pins (similar again to a set of antique juggling pins I have, oddly, now with 2 sets of juggling pins and a unicycle that I should be a waiter...) for only $1.00.
And then the Gel-caps and Scotch began to wear off and it was time to come home.
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
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We're not open Mother's Day. It's a Sunday, the one day of the week we all have off - even the owner, and it's a little surprising, given how busy it would be, but the owner has decided it's not worth the hassle. Mother's Day diners, they're not spending any money.
Nonetheless we get no less than a hundred phone calls trying to make reservations.
Some customers are OK with it, some act surprised ("You're not open Sundays?" "Sir, we haven't opened Sundays for 30 years..."). Some are irate and accuse us of "not being open on Mother's Day". Which is true, but it's also true that we're not open on Sundays and that's been the way it is since the restaurant opened. Some, the more foolish, call on Sunday and speaking to the owner try to make reservations, he tells them himself we're not open, and there's no arguing with him. Pity the fool that tries.
We have an older clientele, the Mother's day crowd has no appeal, if the average age of our customer is 50-60, how old will their mother be?
Still, a few bring them in on Saturday night. Exhumed, unwrapped, powdered and painted, the Sarah Coventry and Avon brooch grave goods applied, their wheeled, escorted, paraded into the restaurant. Once a year they're a happy family.
It's a museum of archeology, paleontology...
Wheelchairs, oxygen bags and strollers, regular customers trot out and exhibit their mother's for all the world to see. Vainly trying to persuade her to have a glass of wine, live a little, once a year they're the good son or daughter, the rest of the year "Mom" is re interred in her retirement home or underground apartment, buried far away from busy lives that never, ever include her, but tonight's her night and for the first time ever we all get to meet "mom".
Saturday was a long, late and busy night.
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
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It's a precarious day off. Someone left, someone's due to start, my day off falls in the middle and so I can't take it for granted, get an early start on the morning's errands...
First stop the Women in Need thrift shop by Marda Loop. A full shop, treasures of the day include a vintage cigarette case that ejects the cigarettes as required (I'll have to switch from King Size, it'll be perfect for the offered cigarettes, as the sole remaining designated smoker at work I'm the touchstone for staff in need of a single fag, amazing how many non-smokers smoke, but you'd have to be a smoker to know...), and an XBox game - Chessmaster - I try to think of how excited the kids will be... well, perhaps the daughter, the boy, it would be hard for him to imagine a more BORING computer game...
From there to the Bibles for Missions, nothing today, then down to Zowie's on 14 St, nothing again, over to Starbucks across the street for a quick coffee & chocolate muffin and a handful of Starbucks cards; run into an old Coworker from Chianti's I haven't seen for years, now a Realtor, he looks good, distinguished, grey hair, rugged features, me, I'm incognito with my handful of treasures, unwashed & unshaven & painfully aware I shouldn't be out and about in this state, we catch up, he's doing well and so am I but it's obvious that I'm not really, then to the Kalamata Grocery on 11th, some Parmesan cheese and olives, walk briskly from there to Kensington, despite appearances I'm feeling pretty good, the sun is shining, my coat's too hot, stop in the art store and get some Titanium and Zinc white as I'd run out, well, not out, but having opened a dozen tubs to find they've all congealed into cracked acrylic lumps I presumed I was out and put them back to mislead me again in the future ("Mixed Media", I tell myself..).
Then home, check the mail, nothing as of yet (damn!), but there's an email on the computer, my package has been shipped, there's a note explaining that I shouldn't be impatient, it's coming all the way from Tibet, and I imagine, briefly, my sacred relic being carted by yaks and Sherpa's over Himalayan passes, the same route taken by the book I just read, and there's anticipation...
There are other emails as well, work emails, but I'll do them after I paint, and I'll paint after I nap, and I should call in to work to ensure they're all right but that will have to wait until after my nap as well otherwise there will be no nap at all, only a gnawing at my intestines...