The Dentist

82 Short Story

“So you’re a dentist?” I looked down at the shirt I was wearing that proudly proclaimed “Dentist-con 2017” featuring a tooth dressed as Superman. “Well,” I started to answer, but my assigned neighbor for the three-hour flight to Atlanta kept talking right over me.

“I’ve always thought that had to be the worst job a man could have,” he said. “I mean, first of all, you spend all day with your hands in someone else’s mouth, and that has to be filthy. You know how some people could never be surgeons because they faint at the sight of the blood? That’s why I could never be a dentist. I guess I’m just too squeamish. I’m really sensitive. My friends tell me that all the time. They say to me, ‘man, you’re just such a sensitive guy,’ and that’s why I could never be a dentist. Not that I’d want to. Of course I don’t mean anything bad by that, I actually really admire you for being willing to put yourself on the line like that. It’s brave. Maybe not soldier brave, but it’s still pretty brave.”

The flight attendant came by and dropped off bags of pretzels. I didn’t much care for pretzels, but I was hoping that at least I’d get a little peace while my neighbor was eating. He shoved pretzels in his mouth and continued talking as though he believed himself to have two different mouths: neither activity conceding to the other for an instant. Pretzel crumbs came out of his mouth like a gentle snowfall on my arm as he leaned forward and continued. “The thing that drives me crazy is flossing. I mean, you spend all your time trying to get people to do that. A hundred times a day you probably just ask people to floss, and you know they won’t. You already know that they’re not going to floss, because no one flosses. I don’t floss. Do you even floss?” “I…” “It must be terrible to be ignored like that all the time, to feel like you don’t even get a chance to talk.” “As it happens…” “People do that to me all the time. Either they don’t give me a chance to speak or they ignore everything I say. I have really good ideas and people are missing out on them because they just won’t listen to what I’m trying to tell them. It’s a real shame.”

He’d eaten all the pretzels, so I used a napkin to brush the crumbs off my arm. “Yeah, it’s a tragedy,” I said.

“A tragedy!” he declared. “You’re exactly right, it’s a tragedy, although I shouldn’t be surprised about you being right. You have to be pretty smart to be a doctor, right? Even if you’re just a dentist and not a real doctor? I have so much respect for dentists. I couldn’t possibly deal with everything they have to put up with. Worst job in the world, isn’t it?”

It went on that way for some time, and I began to wonder if the plane had crashed and I was in the midst of eternal torment. However, I pushed that thought aside, because in Hell he’d have more pretzels.

At last we landed and my neighbor and I went our separate ways. He raised a fist. “Keep fighting the good fight.”

I smiled and nodded half-heartedly. “See you later.” I waited through my layover, dozing off once or twice but

trying to stay awake so I wouldn’t miss the boarding call. After about an hour, I was pushed onto the plane by those behind me in line and shoved to my seat where I hoped to have a little nap on my way home.

I opened my eyes when the seat next to me was filled. I watched as the stranger turned and looked me up and down. He pursed his lips, and I tensed up, waiting for whatever he was about to say.

“So you’re a dentist?” he asked sharply. He continued before I could answer. “Don’t think I don’t know.” “What?” “I know it’s a conspiracy,” he said. “I’m really not sure what you’re talking about, sir.” “Don’t play dumb with me,” he said. “Like I told you, I already know.”

“Know what?” I asked, though I probably should have let the matter drop. “What conspiracy?” “Dentists.” “Dentists?” “You heard me. Dentists.” “Dentists are a conspiracy?” “Ha! So you admit it?” “I suppose my wording may have been confusing,” I admitted.

“They’re useless,” he said. “They are?” “I mean, of course they have purposes, like if you chip a tooth, or get a toothache, but really, you people aren’t nearly as necessary as you seem to think. Like if your teeth are all over the place and you can’t even chew, maybe you should consider braces, but if they’re a little crooked that’s no reason to fork over tons of cash or go through the pain, and what’s the deal with bi-annual check-ups? Why is that necessary?”

“Something about plaque build-up, I think.” “You think? See, you don’t even know, and it’s your field. Compare it to other kinds of doctors. Dermatologists are super important if you get a rash or strange moles or whatever, but that’s no reason to go to a dermatologist every six months to get checked out or washed with special dermatology soap, so why do we give that kind of attention to our teeth? Or, to go back to braces, at least we don’t see everyone’s awkward adolescence compounded by heavy machinery to improve their posture and prevent back problems in the future. Somehow, dentists took over our culture, and no one even questions it, but I do. I listen to NPR, so I’m a critical thinker. We got by for thousands of years without you dentists and your sterilized offices, and we’ll still be here long after your gone. Your moneygrabbing conspiracy can’t last forever. We’re going to run you and your ilk out of town.”

“Um, thanks for the heads up,” I said, staring at the maze of his tangled and yellowed teeth.

Fortunately, this flight was shorter than the last, and we were back on the ground soon. I got off the plane and hurried away. I didn’t have any bags checked, and I headed straight for the airport door to get a taxi home.

As soon as I was in my apartment, I peeled off the dentist’s shirt. I had picked it out of the motel’s lost and found after I’d spilled coffee on my shirt at breakfast. They had thirty of them lying around—apparently the conference had been in town, and the shirt had not been popular, even less popular than travelling all day with a giant coffee-stain. 83 Short Story