Note: this is an older post from a couple of years ago that I never published.
I saw the Cowboy Dental Surgeon again today after a three year hiatus. It’s taken me that long to recuperate from the cost of my dental implant.
This consult was to extract an upper wisdom tooth that had already been removed in 1995 by another dental surgeon. Yeah, I know. Either I got scammed, paying for an extraction that never happened while I was in my Ativan-induced happy place, or it grew back.
Cowboy dentist has the most luxurious waiting room I’ve ever experienced or should I say, never experienced. You see, his office tends to run ahead of schedule so I haven’t had the opportunity to take a selfie while sitting in one of the plush, red leather chairs, chairs arranged in strategic, geometric groupings of three (strategic because you’ll never meet another patient’s terrified eyes if you happen to look up from your smart phone).
There’s a nespresso machine and accompanying pyramid of coffee pods set up on a console, a television set, and wifi password. A sign above the coffee machine warns us that coffee cups are forbidden in the consultation area. Not a problem. There’s no time to make a coffee. At least not for patients.
There is something very fishy about a dentist with a well-equipped waiting room and no actual wait time between consultations. My theory it that he has skillfully eliminated all small talk during the process, deftly ushering us out once he’s explained, holding a model of very white, perfect teeth in one hand, and a frightening model ( horribly deformed peaks stained yellow with necrotic looking roots) in his other hand, inferring the consequences of not following his recommendation. I choose the less scary option, please. Appointment booked.
Long story short, I will have to sneak into the waiting room during someone else’s consultation in order to take that selfie. Either that, or show up an hour and a half early for my appointment and roll around those red leather seats a bit.