Out of Context: The Deadly Dentist

Has anyone ever since this movie? I know that it is a poorly made B movie, and I probably saw it while watching "Up All Night" with Rhonda Shear on The USA Network; nonetheless, this movie created a fear of dentists. Sadly, these evil beings are a necessity. 

As I mentioned in my previous post, I have had extensive dental work done on my teeth, much to the suffering of my nerves, my jaw, and my wallet. I HATE going to the dentist. I dreaded starting my Monday morning going to a Root Canal Specialist. I was shaky, nervous, and irked that I had to have a root canal re-done. It sounded like a total racket to me. 

I like to think of myself as logical and as a critical thinker, but the truth is that I am superstitious. I try to ignore all omens and symbols, but between being raised in the Deep South with two very superstitious grandmothers and having an ardent love of literature, I see omens and symbols everywhere and in everything. The "Root Canal Specialists" had an office FULL of omens and symbols. 

My first stop was the bathroom. There was this odd sign about "impregnated toothbrushes." If they can impregnate toothbrushes, then what kind of experiments was I going to be in for today?

She looks like a Stepford Wife

 As I entered the waiting room, I noticed how beautifully decorated and warm it was. I just knew if I let myself relax that an ax murder was going to pop out from the closet. I talked myself out of this non-sense and started to relax. Then, I saw him. 

Nemo and a selection of his cast mates were in the tank. Certainly, this doctor had seen Finding Nemo. Who hasn't? That was when I decided that "specialist" was a reincarnate of Orin Scrivello, D.D.S. He must be into psychological mind games to have poor little Nemo in his office, right? My anxiety took full control as I started develop a getaway plan for Nemo and me.

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Just as I was about to make my daring rescue and escape, the all-too-perky dental assistant called my back to the dreaded chair (most psycho-killers have some crazy chic or brainwashed fool hanging around to lure unsuspecting victims to the death). 

Again, the environment was lovely, but a little too clean and to quiet. There were a few distractions that were good enough to almost make me let my guard fall: a beautiful view of the forest, a rather nice flat screen, and a massage chair (YES!!! The deadly dental chair was giving me a massage). Alas, I had seen too many horror movies in my life to fall for such tactics. 

I start using my profiling expertise, taught to me by Dr. Spencer Reed. I start noticing pictures of the "specialist" with numerous victims. He did not appear to have a specific type, but his m.o. was always the same: He left his victims with a hook in their mouth and took pictures of them hanging by a hook and thread while he was sadistically grinning. I knew that this was going to the end of my life. I also knew, based on my profile, that I was going to have to suffer a great deal of physical and psychological pain. 

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Enter the "Specialist" stage left... 

This man immediately earned his serial killer moniker: Dr. Jolly. He was friendly and thorough in his explanation as to why this whole procedure was needed. He assured me that the procedure would be very quick with minimal pain. I became mesmerized by his charisma and felt myself relax. 

Alright! Alright! Alright! I will try to give it up with the dramatics, even though the above was essentially an exact description of my inner thought.. My previous dentist, who is retired and safe my wrath, had made some serious mistakes with one of my root canals. He missed a fifth root (proof that my mutant powers will reveal themselves with the radiation hits). Left-over broken drill files were rusting away within my roots and jaw. 

This is the sexiest before and after comparison that I have right now. 

Dr. Jolly did work quickly, and the pain was minimal. It was a much better experience than any other regular dentist procedure that I had previously. The tooth was severely infected, and if I had not gotten treatment, it would have eventually abscessed. 

I may have become a cult member because, by the time I left, I was begging Dr. Jolly to be my regular dentist. He only does what the voices in his head tell him to do apparently because he only does root canal work. 

As I left, I was happy that I could put a positive dental experience in my memory bank. He even called this evening to check on me and my pain level. Dr. Jolly must want to develop full trust before hooking his victims for his picture trophies.

 I still should have saved Nemo.