Jacked To Shit Crooked Teeth

My contribution to society will be to advocate for a "Tooth Person." They will be highly paid due to all the specializations but my recent dental adventures had me appreciating the beauty of consolidating. A level one trauma center style dental organization. Oh boy will you pay but the convenience? That is worth it.

My mother used to say that whenever my father had a cavity he would dig into the chair and tell the dentist "Fill it right now. I got time." And sometimes I think this is a big damn energy moment. Or its a halcyon era moment. Back when you spent more than 30 seconds with the doctor. When you could go to college for $400 dollars a year. 

Or its something Puerto Rican. The kind of petty low level graft that makes everything churn. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. In slang this is "una pala" which translates literally to shovel. Digging out from a jam with your buddy. 

Or, its a lie. Hyperbole made to increase an aura of big papiness. No dentist would do that. Not even my dentist who runs everything solo in his office. The check in. The cleaning. The xrays. And the drilling. They have other patients.

Jacked to shit crooked teeth. "There is a lot going on here," says the friendly orthodontist. Dr. Johnson. He just took over from Dr. Wenger who retired at the end of last year. "Is any of this surprising to you," he asks shucking off his gloves. "Does anyone have a history of underbites in your family?"

Jacked to shit crooked teeth. An orthodontist told me I needed braces when I was a teen. But, we couldn't pay so mami decided to roll the dice and focus her energies on treatments that could keep me alive. 

"How did your mami pay for all this? You didn't have health insurance. How?" My wife asked me citing a bookend to a gap before I married her and got insurance again.

"She figured it out."

The mob, that had to be it. Does Puerto Rico have a mob?

Cash? I bet PR is a big underground economy place?

Favors? Didn't you have a lot of rich friends.

Blow jobs? I mean just saying. 

Jacked to shit crooked teeth. Protrusive profile. Crossbite. CL 3. "Do you have an oral surgeon? I suggest extracting some teeth to make room. We can't do that here."

Ill make an "after dentist" video. Mumble on in a spoken word version of this blog. One time only. In the back of someone's car. That someone is yet to be determined. 

At work I mention all this saga as explanation as to why I am never there. Instead I am trapped at the dentist feeling ancient surrounded by tweens. "You have a normal mouth," a cute co-worker says. That made my day. Makes me appreciate the jacked too shit crooked teeth which that I still want to destroy. To make a point. To glean another polite compliment. To send the bill to Mami.