Oh I SO have a story for this one. Sorry it's kind of long.
I had been unemployed for over a year, and after a very hard and constant search finally got a job (my current one). My insurance kicked in right before this happened, too, which was fortuitous. Since I had no money, and no dental insurance on my last job (from which I got laid off just as I had got caught up), I hadn't been to the dentist in a very long time.
I had a cavity. I knew it, but could do nothing. The charitable organizations in this town that had dental care as part of their programs told me all they could do was pull it; they wouldn't do a filling. (Huh?) I didn't want that, and I was holding out until I had a job and could pay for it. My parents were basically paying my essential bills by this time, as my unemployment had run out, and I didn't want to ask them for money for a dumb tooth. So I lived on Anbesol until I could get in to see someone, for some time after I got my job.
One night I was eating a Quiznos sandwich and *CRACK* the tooth broke in half. It stayed in my mouth but was broken all the way up. I called my boss the next morning and told her I had to go to the dentist, and I wouldn't be in. She recommended I go to her dental office, and told me they were very nice. I immediately called and they got me in that morning. The dentist was very young, and his diploma said "Class of 2003." Classless is more like it, and you’ll see why. Well, he looked at the x-rays, and had the sense to say he wouldn't touch it, because my root was all curled up in my jaw. He sent me to an oral surgeon, and I got the tooth pulled that day.
Classless of 2003 had recommended I come see him and get some more work done, because I had cavities adjacent to the lost tooth that would need attention. I called and got another appointment. There must have been some miscommunication in the office, because when I came in, he thought I was just in to be evaluated, not worked on. I said, uh-uh, this appointment was to fix these cavities. He sniffed, but agreed.
While the technician and I were waiting for him to come in, I was looking at a local magazine that had a spread about Italian food. We were commenting on the pictures of delicious-looking food. When he came in, he asked what we were looking at and when we told him, he said, “Oh, Eye-talian? Is that what they call a wop?” I WAS SPEECHLESS. The technician and I just looked at each other.
During the procedure, Classless had to put some water in my mouth, and he told me not to swallow. The technician squirted it in rather forcefully, and some of it got past me and I choked. I turned my head to the side and coughed the water out; unfortunately, where Classless was sitting. He jumped and snapped, “That was uncalled for!” Excuse me? I was DROWNING! Anyway, you’re a dentist! You don’t want to get spit on, be a psychiatrist. I mumbled, “Isowwwwwyy” as best I could through the Novocain. I knew it wasn’t my fault, but I was humiliated. And angry.
After I left, I wrote an email to the dental office, detailing his behavior. I told them that the repairs he had done on my teeth were satisfactory, but his behavior (especially the ethnic slur) wasn’t and that I didn’t want him to touch me again. They wrote back that he had been reprimanded, and had apologized, and that my case was assigned to another dentist if I wished to return.
I haven’t been back yet, and I need to have a cleaning. I think I will give the other guy a chance. But Classless? I hope he learned a lesson.
