All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Back Teeth

by Thomas M. Pender

I’ve lived in Macon, Georgia for 12 years.  In that time, I have had two rear molars yanked out of my head.  I see a cause-and-effect issue here.  With the rampant toothlessness in the South, I believe I’ve stumbled upon a geographic germ.  Aside from my wisdom teeth, I had every tooth given to me by God when I entered Georgia.  Now, I am two short of a full set.

However, it’s not Georgia that I find rantworthy.  It’s the medieval elements of “modern” dentistry.

I’ve never been afraid to go to the dentist.  This probably has to do with being blessed with trouble-free adult teeth.  I go, I get x-rayed, cleaned, and then I leave.  Dentistry is my friend.

Then, a few years ago, I dozed off on my couch.  In a few unconscious minutes, I was awakened by searing pain in my jaw.  I narrowed the daggers down to one tooth, and made an appointment to see a dentist.  At the office, I was asked if my tooth was sensitive to cold.  When I informed the dentist that cold water actually dulled the pain, he winced and told me that was bad news.  It wasn’t a simple toothache, it was a problem down in the nerves.  Long tooth story short, I had to get it pulled.

This is the 21st Century.  We have moved beyond hammers and chisels in doctors’ offices.  Techniques and instrumentation now make it relatively comfortable for patients during complicated procedures.  Unfortunately, the century has apparently left dentistry in the dust of the 1800s.

After I got two shots of Novocaine, the dentist turned around for the next implement and brought out . . . a pair of pliers!  Oh, sure, it was a nice, new, shiny pair of pliers.  It was a sleek design, curved at the end with a tooth-shaped compartment at the tip, but it was a pair of pliers, nonetheless.  She positioned the neuvo-pliers over my tooth, and as she braced to yank, I started waving my arms all about.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I can feel everything you’re doing,” I responded, thinking the Novocaine allotment had been a bit sparse.  She gave me a third shot and waited a few minutes for it to kick in.  Then she re-assumed the yanking position.  I again waved my arms.

“I can feel everything you’re doing!” I injected (pun intended), my vocal words in italics.

“Oh, well, you’re going to feel some pressure.”

As most dental patients know, “pressure” is dentist code for “searing, excruciating pain.”  I felt the tooth slide out of its socket, and by the end of that day, my pain was gone.

Years later, without the nap inducer, I began to feel a toothache on the opposite molar of my lower jaw.  It intensified, and I made an appointment at the local dental college.  (Side note: Dental colleges are great for procedures, as they are highly skilled and very inexpensive.)  This set of pliers weren’t even disguised as a sleek Porsche of the dental world.  This was a straight Chevy Nova of the dental world.  I swear I saw the Craftsman logo on the side!  The pain, this time due to an infection, left with the tooth, and I was grateful even for the toolbox implement at that point.

Still, I call upon the dental engineers of the world (if, indeed, dental engineers exist) to come up with something a bit – or a ton – more concentrated on the comfort of patients.  I don’t care if it’s based on hydraulics or digital photography or astrology, but for the love of all that is good and merciful in the world, please, dentistry, invent something that replaces the pliers!

I mean now!  Go.  Research.  Design.  Get it done.

Now!!!!!!

Wes of the Rio Grande

by Thomas M. Pender

A great friend of mine just got married.  He’s a very good guy, and I wish him and his new bride all the happiness in the world.  This news also inspired me: I want to take this opportunity to tell about how we met.  His name is Wes Patterson, and he was my very first friend in Georgia.

The good news about my move to Georgia from the Library Park section of Kenosha, Wisconsin was that I had a job waiting for me.  The bad news, I came to learn, was that the job paid twice a month, with time accumulating on one pay cycle, and pay being delivered at the end of the second pay cycle.  In other words, I was going to have to wait a full month before I saw a dime.

This was going to take some creative budgeting!

The first thing you learn while sleeping in your car in Georgia in June is that it’s really hot and humid out there.  At about 1:00 in the morning, I walked over to Rio Grande, a local bar/restaurant, because it was the only thing in sight that was open that I thought might have drinkable running water.  Inside, patrons were patronizing, fun was being had, and I sat at the centrally located bar with nothing more in mind that a little hydrogen-oxygen compound in a glass.

The bartender was a friendly guy with close-cut hair and a goatee.  I also learned that subtle Southern accents sound friendly to Yankee ears.  “What can I get you?”

“A water would be good.”

My first surprise that night came when a nice waitress put a full bowl of tortilla chips and a smaller bowl of salsa in front of me.  Free appetizers = actual food in the belly!  When he wasn’t mixing drinks, the bartender asked me if I wanted something more substantial to eat.  At some point after I told him my pay cycle dilemma, he disappeared into the kitchen.  I was shocked again when he reappeared with a much more substantial dip, consisting of melted cheese, hamburger and salsa.  That tasted and felt great!  During my second visit, as I ate the dip he prepared and served without my even asking for it, Wes shared with me that not only was there no charge for the dip, it wasn't even on the menu.  It was just something he slapped together in the kitchen to feed his temporarily penniless customer.

Favors like this I don’t forget.

I learned when Wes was working, and over the next month, I stopped in a few times to shoot the breeze.  The “special” dip was always prepared by Wes without even asking for it.  Weeks later, when I finally did receive and cash my first check, I headed straight for Rio Grande.  It was a busy Wednesday night with a live band, and the joint was jumping.  I had no intention of staying, though.  I went there just to carry out one mission.  Making my way to the bar, I flagged Wes over.

“Do you remember me?” I asked without preamble.

“Yeah, sure!”

I put a ten-dollar bill in his hand. “Thank you,” I said, and left.

With an actual income, I returned to the Rio Grande now and again.  I paid for and got filling meals, and until the place closed several months later, I got to shoot more breezes with Wes.  We kept in touch over the years, and in 2008, my fiancé and I stopped in to visit with him and his daughters.

Wes will probably say what he did was no big deal, cost the bar nothing, and was the right thing to do.  That’s his way.  From my side of the bar, however, it was an incredibly generous favor that deserves to be publicly recognized.

Thanks again, Wes!  You’re a Christian and a gentleman, and I’m truly grateful.