Mayhem 3

It has been a day already and I haven't even run yet. My plan was to get the Girl and I to the dentist and then go to Costco to get the tires changed on our car.

First off, I went to the wrong dentist. Yesterday I was so upset by the dentist that the boys went to that I had to find one right away and I guess in my haste I forgot which place I called and underlined too many dentist's names. I guess I was confused. So I went to the first dental office and they looked at me weird. "You must be scheduled across the street," the receptionist said. Of course, I look all harried and stressed out because I have a pile of kids with me.

So I go across the street thinking that the receptionist is totally wrong and I am right. Um, no. I go across the street and they are expecting me and smile and say, "the receptionist at the dental office you were just at warned us you were coming. We have nothing to do. We will call around and help you find which dentist you have an appointment with."

They made one phone call to other dental office by the stinking Panera Bread and whalah! there was my appointment. Twenty minutes late too. I breezed into that place with my hot and sweaty complaining kids and filled out paperwork.

I am very upset by the ideas this dentist has put into my head about how badly my teeth need repair. Well, I won't get into it, but lets just say ten grand. Those babies look great on the outside. Oh, every stinking dentist comments on how straight my teeth are, how I must have had braces, etc. Then they look at my opened mouth. Ouch. I am, to say the least, depressed. All that echoes through my mind is how the dentist was saying that I am "so young". Yeah, so young to have dentures in a small gob of years!

So, like I said, I took the boys to the "ghetto" dentist yesterday. I had no clue what we were stepping into, I swear. The office was in a strip mall and the decorating in the waiting room was disgusting. Every wall was grimy with chipped paint or ripped wall paper. The fifty year old original carpet was filled with lovely nuts, berries, hair balls, flecks of various pieces of rubbish. The waiting room ALONE should have told me.

Then the receptionist had apparently brought her BABY to work. Daycare just wasn't working out that day, I guess. And not only that, there was a dog in a dog bed sleeping underneath the desk. I was about fit to be tied. I only noticed this though, once they called the boys back and I went with them. Let me tell you that this was supposed to be a pediatric dental office. They had a rough cardboard box full of rinky dink gross toys from I don't know, a sick dollar store from a hundred years ago, for the kids when they are done. They had bubble gum flavored flouride. They had some tvs up for the kids to watch while the assistants cleaned away. I made sure to think of these things because I could not figure out what made them "pediatric."

Did I mention that the floors were disgusting? I mean, they were RANK. Even the tile floors. Then the dentist came on the scene. The man was of Middle Eastern descent, I am sure, but he looked more like he was from the ghetto itself because he had this big golden medallion hanging from his neck and he had on JEANS. He looked like he was going to take me to the back and cook me a couple of meatballs. He had no accent either. Granted, he was a nice guy, but not thorough at all. He looked at the boys' teeth and said. "Looks good."

That's it?!

"I floss their teeth about once a week," I said, wincing.

"Wow. That's great!"

Huh?

"See you in six months, guys!"

Uh, I don't think so.

I felt sick, seriously. I mean, I don't mean to be a clean freak, or anything like that. I don't mean to sound like I am a snooty person by any means. I think anyone would think that what I just walked out of looked like a run down welfare office. With a baby and a dog in it.

So I made the phone calls that afternoon (yesterday) and asked many receptionists whether they had clean facilities or not. I did explain that the place I took my very own precious boys to was a complete DIVE.

So I had to get those tires changed, you know? Good grief, we had tons of work on the car done and they told us that we needed our tires changed on top of it. We told the car place we were going to get it done at Costco.

Costco tire guy: "Tires look fine. I mean, I can take your money if you want, but to be honest, they are good for a good bit."

Oh really?

I am so sorry, dear friends who read this, that I am in such a foul mood. I think it is the medicine, I am not sure. It is probably my black, murky heart, but I am ok enough in my own dark sinful pride to blame it on the medicine. I confess this to you.

At least though, even when I am highly stressed and I have terribly bad teeth, there are some people I can fool. This is a customer at the tire place today (he was a total yuppie):

"Hey, what are you in here for?" He had his sunglasses on and we were among piles of tires.

"I was going to get some tires changed," I said.

"Oh yeah? Are you having to wait?" He seemed too interested.

"Uh, no," I looked about me in a disheveled way for the three crazies were scattered about thinking the piles upon piles of tires were a corn maze. They were playing hide and go seek.
"I, uh, don't need to get my tires changed apparently."

"Are these your kids?" He looks around at them.

"Yep, they are QUITE mine."

"They are fun. They say funny things."

"Huh. I think they have a lot of energy," I commented.

"Yes, they make for a fun time, don't they?"

"Not really," I smiled.

"I was trying to be positive." He walked off.

"Oh well, thanks."

The end.