Gold Standard         April 29, 2013

            My dentist, Carie Plaquentartar, is a great artist in porcelain and fine metals, with the occupational failing of conducting conversations when people can’t talk back.   Unfortunately when he asks how you’re doing, even if you aren’t wearing a rubber dam, he expects to hear, “unh oongh-inh hinh”—just like Charlie Brown in school.  “How was your weekend, Skid,” he asked Monday?  He calls me ‘Skid’ because I ride a bicycle, and I call him ‘Boats’ because I have bought him so many.  Well, and ‘Doctor Plaquentartar’ is just too much work, on the lingual side.   

            “Lousy,” I responded.

            “Great, have a seat!”

            “LOUSY WEEKEND,” I repeated as I leaned back.  Medea, his assistant, was chaining me up to a spit rag.  She smiled.

            “Oh??? Whyzat,” he frowned.  A man with his skills, you don’t like to see him frown.  It occurred to me that I should have just stuck with the response he heard first.

            “I bought a gold coin for $1200 Friday,” I answered.

            “Oh!  Yeah, that probably won’t cover the bill this morning.  I sold a gold coin for $1200 Friday.  It’s worth about $18 this morning.  Got plastic?  We take plastic!”

            “I don’t use plastic!  Can I just have a rubber dam now,” I asked, utterly defeated?  Medea quickly fitted me up, and I finally felt I could communicate well, having lost all desire to do so.

            “You’ll have to pay, or leave your bicycle!”  Boats was frowning again.

            “Unh hunh,” I intoned.