Blogagaard Goes To the Dentist

So, I went to the dentist today at the ungodly hour of 8 AM. It's close enough that I just walked there in a sleepy stupor. The office is the basement of an apartment building, but is exactly the opposite of the sleazy feel you'd expect from a medical office in a apartment building basement, very shiny and modern, with a live camera feed to the TV in front of me so I could watch as they poked around inside my mouth (live on Channel 5: Your disgusting mouth and the instrument scraping it!). They found 3 cavities, God help me, and want $160 per cavity to fill them. The question I have is: would it be cheaper just to melt down some quarters and stuff them into the cavities myself and hope for the best?

I think the worst part of my visit today, and in general, is more the getting prodded with questions than the getting prodded with scraping hooks. I can take the mouth pain, just shut up and let me suffer in peace. I'm not stupid: Doctor/hygienist, your interest in me is born of one of three things, or all three together: you're bored as fuck, you're nosy as fuck, or you just want to find out something about my personality so you can use it against me in an attempt to sell me something.

So, yeah, I'm not big on phony chattiness. That's probably why I haven't made it too far up the ranks of high society, business, or high school popularity (though I did speak at my high school graduation because they said I'd be an "interesting" speaker-ha ha, suckers, I read a boring poem instead!). Phony chattiness is mostly why I've had my hair cut at the same place for seven or so years now-at least Donna knows the score.

PS. I'm pretty sure being a writer further exacerbates this fake chattiness. As soon as I tell my profession to strangers, I almost always, always regret it within five seconds, if not sooner. Today my dentist went out of his way to let me know that he's done work on several writers before me.