All week, the only question I’ve been asked is, “What did you do over break?” From professors, classmates, friends, enemies. Let’s set aside the fact that I already know what you did over break—I saw your Instagram post from Puerto Rico. Why ask the question if you don’t want the answer? “I went to the dentist” is both true, fascinating and reasonable; yet, I seem to be shutting people down everywhere I go. For reasons indiscernible to me, I’ve been met with groans, the occasional nod of sympathy and, on a good day, a curt “nice.” Not one person has asked me how it went. And frankly, I have a lot to say. Just because my dentist is named Dr. Melo, does not mean it was a mellow experience. In fact, by the end I was pretty worked up. Have you noticed that the dentist office is getting weirder?
We all know the dentist sucks. The bone-chilling noises, the sadistic flossing interrogation, the ageist, dictatorial rules surrounding the prize box. That’s standard practice. But I’m generally going to the dentist because I need a new toothbrush, not a good time. This trip, however, was far more sinister.
After a brisk 17-minute wait, I was led into a small room facing the neighboring grocery store’s parking lot and given a bright purple bib. As my chair was laid back and I accepted my grim fate, I found myself staring at a large picture of a canyon pasted onto the ceiling. It seems to have been positioned in an attempt to sedate me, perhaps the closest thing the dental board will allow to a tranquilizer gun. With nowhere else to look while the hygienist poked and prodded my gums, I stared at the gaping ravine. The longer I looked, the more it began to resemble a set of teeth. And the closer I examined the dark corners and dying shrubs, the more concerned I became about my casual relationship with flossing. Maybe I misread the picture’s goal. If it was intended as part of a multi-step fear-mongering plan, rather than relaxation, it is doing a bang-up job.
The only thing that managed to break me out of this reverie was the dental assistant, who briefly permitted my jaw to relax as she wiped my plaque across my chest. Let me repeat that: She wiped my own mouth goop across my chest. Why have we as a society decided that a bib makes it okay for my nipple to act as a napkin? Anything sharp enough to dig dirt from between my teeth should not be anywhere near there. Shouldn’t that be a boundary? What is that tray table for? And while we are on the subject of dental perversities, when you ask me if I want to spit, can you please look away while I do it?
Just when I thought this whole ordeal was coming to an end, the dentist finally made his entrance. While scraping each one of my teeth, the way I imagine a cat might scratch his back on a pole, he announced that I have both a cavity and “unnaturally groovy teeth,” which he said while doing a sort of wave-like dance move. From a professional standpoint, it seems strange to call me a freak of nature while dancing. Though he assured me this cavity was NOT because of my brushing, I am less sure. I have never once won a teeth-brushing bathroom stand-off. Once you make sidelong eye contact while frothing at the mouth, I find a quick exit to be imperative. But, before I can initiate the same quick exit from this little soiree, Dr. Melo remembers he has forgotten his favorite part of the trip: our little shaming ritual. Without fail, we repeat the same conversation every six months:
“Remind me, where exactly do you go to school?”
“Vassar, it’s in upstate New York.”
“Huh, never heard of it. What’s your major?”
“English.”
And then he laughs at me. Out loud. Sighs and says, “Well, you could be a teacher. Do you want to be a teacher?”
“No.”
Then he laughs again. It’s cute. We both have an equally great time with it.
And if you think it’s just me, it’s not. Last Friday, Olivia Selby ’26 made a trip to the dentist, and she too experienced a decided increase in strangeness since her last visit. Here’s what she had to say: “So I’m sitting in the chair and this woman has her hands in my mouth. She’s yapping and yapping and yapping about her time serving in Korea and then she goes, ‘God, all I’ve been thinking about is a burrito. I can’t stop thinking about burritos.’ And then she’s going through the pros and cons of each of the nearby burrito restaurants. ‘Chipotle’s burrito isn’t big enough. Gabby’s Burrito doesn’t give you any sides.’ But I’m still thinking about Korea and I really would have liked at least one of us to be thinking about my teeth!”
But definitely schedule that dentist appointment you’ve been putting off. Or make your mom do it. But go. And when you do, tell me: Is the dentist office getting weirder?