The Diary of Queen Mothy |
Silver Lining in My Rotting Teeth written @ 8:20 PM on August 11, 2003 Set strike at the theater today was a royal pain in the ass, as it always is, made worse by the fact that there were only six people tearing the thing apart bolt by bolt instead of the show's cast and run crew, as it usually is. I was there until 3:30 this afternoon, all hopes and dreams of getting the afternoon off smashed against the jagged rocks of reality, and then I bought the books for my classes this fall. One hundred and eighty-nine bucks were tossed into the oblivion that is the American education system, and all for the purpose of convincing me that a Neanderthal is not an ancestor of mine (Beginning Archealogy, section one), that diplomacy is mostly about kissing ass and that the U.S. sucks at that (International Politics, section four), and why photography class is going to drain the rest of my financial assets. The "highlight" of my day, however, had been the lovely visit to the dentist to get my cavities filled. Yes, you read that right: cavities, meaning there was more than the one I thought I only had. Nevertheless, I faced that medieval torture chamber like a martyr. Upon signing in at the reception office, I, like so many great philosophical thinkers before me (I hope you're noting the sarcasm by this point), wondered why bad things happen to good people. I almost forgot the darkness hovering above my head as I got lost in an issue of Entertainment Magazine riddled with pictures of Johnny Depp (sound cue: Campbell Soup's "MMmm, mmm good!"), but, alas, that fateful hour had approached. They took me into this tiny room separated from the rest of the cheery, sky blue, dentist-going populaces that faintly reminded me of those "doctor offices" they had in Nazi concentration camps; tensions hightened when I heard Justin Timberlake on the room's personal radio. Here I am, I thought. So this is Hell. The doctor's assistant, a plump, good humored woman who faintly reminded me of Jessica but who lacked Jessica's special "charm," gave me a fast run-through of what was going to happen. I only comprehended the word "numb" in that strange sub-English lingo, and that was fine by me. It wasn't like last week's visit to the wisdom tooth surgeon. Speaking of which, I wore my scary Stitch shirt from Lilo and Stitch in an effort to make everyone think twice about touching my mouth in a way that I deem undesirable, but, alack, just like the wisdom tooth surgeon these basic folk were not phased. The plump woman stuck pink gel doused on a Q-tip in my mouth, and all of a sudden half my face felt like it was sliding off my skull. What barbaric behavior is this?! I wondered. Indeed, here are muscles I never knew I had! Then the doctor came in, and he went behind my chair into a drawer. I noted how various metal tools of oral destruction slid and clattered with the sound of the opening drawer. Shania Twain was playing on the radio. Goddamn it, if I am about to die, I would not like this to be the last song I ever hear . . . *grumble* *growl* Then I was aware of Dolan standing beside me, his arms crossed, a bemused expression radiating from his countenance. Great, even my angel thinks I'm nuts. The doctor checked my mouth. "Good news," he said, "the cavity on your lower jaw is so small we won't need to give you a shot there." "What? A shot--" I stuttered. "Open wide now," and the doctor slipped in a shot of novacane using one of those Erector Set-type of tools. Like a deer caught in headlights, the shot took me by surprise. When he next brought what could have only been the drill before my eyes, I stopped him before he could proceed. "Wait," I said, trying to sound like an intelligent being. "Just what exactly are you doing?" What I really wanted to say was, Look, I'm a decent person. I'm a good, innocent girl who has never had a cavity in her life. Is your conscience that black that it wouldn't touch your heart in the least to see this sweet, cute (except for the Stitch shirt), innocent girl-- albeit naive-- undergo torturous hardship and not grant some mercy? Or am I just a number to you? Or does your blackened soul seek pleasure in defiling this virgin? "Oh," he said, totally not reading what I was really thinking. "Well, see, you've got a cavity on your top row and one on the bottom--" "I have two?!" "Yeah... Didn't they tell you?" I shrugged. Did the Nazis tell the Jews they were about to get gased? Nope. "So I'm going to drill to get the bad stuff out," he continued. "And my assistants will put your silver fillings in." "Wait. I get silver fillings?" "Yes." Mmmmm, this will give me something to pawn off when I'm a starving artist. So without another word, he began to drill on the super-small cavity. Miraculously, I survived. Then he began on the other one. I was aware of Dolan standing over my shoulder looking down in my mouth and watching the doctor and his assistant work. I never thought he'd be the type of angel to take interest in any of that dentistry stuff, unless he was riveted simply by horrified fascination. They probably don't have much need for dentists in Heaven. He still seemed amused at my position, so I shot him a look to wipe that smirk off his face and almost addressed him aloud. But I stopped myself just in time, remembering what the implications in would mean if I jolted the drill in my mouth or shouted at an unseen entity in the room. Finally the carnage was over, and I was left with limp, dead flesh on my skull and the strange feeling of having metal in my mouth. Wow, I realized, I could conduct even more electricity and psychic energy than I ever was able to before. Who knew cavity fillings could become tools of the metaphysical? (Probably no one until I came around...) Tomorrow, unfortunately, I have to go back to work. Today was supposed to be the day to end all days, but with only six people dismantling an entire set, we didn't exactly finish and then we have to paint the stage floor. *sigh* Hopefully I'll be out of there before three o'clock (because God knows fighting traffic on N-71 is a hobby of mine...), and then I'm going camping... in the middle of the woods... at Caesar Creek... where all the dead beat perverted hippies tend to flock to... Should be fun, eh? Stay tuned for my next adventure in West Chester Wonderland...
A Bit of History ~ And Onward! L'Amour Toujours! - August 08, 2005 |
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