Hey, look- somebody turned the talkbacks off! This makes now the perfect time to spew some unholy vitrol without fear of lame talkback reprisal or “YOUR GAY HEHEH” turd graffiti.
Last week, I was told by my dentist that I needed to have my wisdom teeth pulled. Not that I had cavities, but that they *might* get cavities at some point, and that it would be in everyone’s best interest to remove them. He left the room before I could ask any questions. Naturally, I wasn’t too excited about having oral surgery without a really awesome reason, so I balked at the idea and told the receptionist that I’d get back to them.
After they fucked up on sending the right insurance information to my providers, I called their receptionist, which yielded the following conversation:
Me: “Hi- it turns out that you sent the wrong information to my insurance company. You filled out the wrong date on the submission form, so they need you to correct it and re-send it.”
Witchface Shitbrains: “Our insurance person isn’t in today. Call back later when she is.”
Me: “Wait, so you want ME to find time in MY schedule to fix the problem that YOU caused?”
Witchface Shitbrains: “I don’t care what you do. I’ve already left too many messages for her as it is, so just call back.”
Me (In probably what was an impulsive move, in hindsight): “FUCK OFF!” ::click::
The “fuck off” part felt good, but the saga was far from over.
So, I call back a week later and ask to speak to the dentist. Witchface answers the phone. Little did I know that Dentists are like Grand Theft Auto mob bosses in that you have to arrange a formal sit-down to speak to them. For money, no less. So I says to Witchface, I says:
Me: I just want to ask him a few follow-up questions regarding my surgery. Will you please just have him call me back?
Witchface Shitbrains: No. The Dentist doesn’t call people back. What do you want to know?
Me: I have some questions about my oral surgery. I don’t know what my options are with my wisdom teeth.
Withcface Shitbrains: [roots through my files, looks at my X-Rays] Well, it looks like you might get cavities in those teeth. What, do you want to have a root canal later??
Me: JUST HAVE HIM CALL ME BACK.
Witchface Shitbrains: Fine. ::click::
That afternoon, I get a call from the dentist:
Don Giovanni Prima Donna Pegorino: Yeah, What do you want?
Me: “Oh, I had some questions about my surg-“
Don Giovanni Prima Donna Pegorino: “She should have told you already! You’ll get cavities! Those wisdom teeth are a ticking time bomb and if you don’t get them taken care of then I’m not responsible for what happens to your teeth! I won’t be your dentist if you don’t get them taken care of! You can go somewhere else for all I care!”
Me: “Wait, I, uh…”
Don Giovanni Prima Donna Pegorino: “And what’s with your attitude? How dare you question my judgment! Who are you to question my judgment?”
Me: “Wait, wha-“
Don Giovanni Prima Donna Pegorino: “How dare you!”
Me: “How dare YOU, sir! Your bedside manner, if there even is such a thing in dentistry, is sorely lacking! And the customer service at the front desk is appalling!”
Don Giovanni Prima Donna Pegorino: “Theresa has 30 years of experience! How dare you question her!”
[Here’s the kicker]
Don Giovanni Prima Donna Pegorino: “YOU ARE THE WORST PATIENT I’VE EVER HAD! YOU ARE HEREBY BANNED FROM MY PRACTICE! YOU ARE BANNED FROM EVER SETTING FOOT IN MY OFFICE AGAIN!”
You read that correctly. This is not a joke. I’ve been blacklisted from the dentist.
The last time I was banned from anything it was when I threw up at the comic book store when I was nine.