Dentist

I have a new dentist. I don't like dentists. This one is perfectly nice, but she is still a person with sharp implements who is going to poke me in the gums and lecture me about flossing. And, to add to my misery, I have to get two fillings done on Friday afternoon...what a lovely way to spend my day off, drooling quietly in the wake of painkilling injections. :(

Anyway, my new dentist proved once again that Cape Town is a very, very small city. Firstly, I had to find a dentist in my area whose practice is approved by my company medical aid. So I phoned the medical aid and was given a few names, some options. I chose this dentist purely because I thought she had a cool surname. I didn't even know she was a woman. I phoned, made an appointment, and on Friday afternoon I set off to find her place. Which, it turns out, is an easy 10 minute walk from my flat, laughably close and in a road that I have passed millions of times in the past however-many-years of living in and around the neighbourhood.

Then came the actual appointment. I had to fill in a form that asked ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING about my medical history - wise, I suppose, when you're dealing with the aforementioned sharp implements and are likely to make your patients bleed once or twice during a consultation. That done, I trotted through and met my new dentist, a very nice woman who didn't waste too much time lecturing me about my Coke habit.

About 10 minutes into the check-up, the dentist initiated conversation. Why do they insist on doing that? Your mouth is wide bloody open, you're usually being poked and prodded and your teeth are being cleaned, you can't form anything resembling a coherent word, let alone a sentence - but oh well, good time for a chat!

Dentist: So, you're a journalist?
Me: Ah-hah...
Dentist: Did you study at Rhodes? You said your last dentist was in Grahamstown.
Me: Ah-hah...
Dentist: My daughter went to Rhodes. When were you born?
Me: 'ineteen aaaty waaaaaan
Dentist: She was born in 1982, so I suppose she wouldn't have been in your year.
Me: 'at id cheee shtudy?
Dentist: Drama, she majored in Drama
Me: *suddenly making the connection between dentist's surname and a Drama student I knew who shares that surname* Oh! Is *insert muffled version of name here* oar daawtah?
Dentist: Why yes, she is! Do you know her!
Me: *nods frantically*
Dentist: You've got a wisdom tooth, did you know that?
Me: Aaaaah?

Her daughter was, in fact, in my year at varsity and courtesy of having very many Drama-rama kids as friends, I knew her. So, small world. I did the usual, "Please tell her I say hello" and was struck afterwards by how silly I'm going to feel if the dentist's daughter doesn't remember me. I'll find out if the greeting was returned on Friday, when I present myself and my dodgy teeth for a fun afternoon of anaesthesia and bleeding gums.