Dentist

  I don't like dentists.  I never have.  Thanks to my dislike of dentists, I have very few teeth left in my mouth.  I suppose I should get dentures, but I think I will die first before having to go to a dentist.

 When I was younger, my parents made me go to the dentist.  From all my visits, I should have had enough fillings to bring in BBC World Service on my teeth.  Thanks to my sweet tooth I always had cavities.  There was one visit in particular that was uneventful.

 My teenage dentist had an office at Trenholm Plaza.  He was also a deacon in his local Baptist church.  It seemed logical for me to go to him.  During one appointment with him he declared that I didn't have any cavities.  I was sure that he had a sudden loss of vision, but I went away happy.  When I got home, I told my parents what he said, and they were shocked and pleased at the same time.  A few days later, my parents got a bill in the mail from my dentist for $150.  What for?  I didn't have any cavities.  They called my dentist, and he said that I had to have a lot of dental work done while I was there, and that I cried when told how much the work had cost.

 So, my parents asked me about what the dentist had said.  Even though I used to lie to my parents a lot about my comings and goings, this time I had to tell the truth that the dentist was mistaken.  I didn't cry, and in fact had been thrilled that I didn't have any cavities.  My parents had a dilemma.  Do they trust their teenaged son who was a bit sketchy, or do they trust the dentist who was a Baptist deacon who had a fine reputation?  They went with me.  My parents told the dentist that they weren't going to pay the $150, and the dentist threatened to sue them in court.  

 As it turned out, his office people sent the wrong bill to my parents, and apparently this wasn't the first time this had happened to a patient of his.  The mistake was rectified, but my dentist didn't apologize, so my parents sent me to a different dentist after that fiasco.  My father, who was a bigwig in the Baptist denomination, told the pastor of the dentist's church what had happened.  Mysteriously, the dentist stopped being a deacon.  I imagine it wasn't the dentist's decision.  We all thought he was a good man.  He had a good reputation.  He smiled a lot.