Today Colt visited The Holy Freaking Grail of Pediatric Dentists…
I remember my younger years at the dentist, vividly.
There was the exam chair – grey cracking pleather. The 20-year-old framed photo of hot air balloons on the wall.
And the many, many posters of Gingivitis gone wrong.
The woman missing half her jaw with the rotting roots and no tongue. The child with a clef palate and no right nostril. The old man with dentures – smiling at me.
A Little Dental Hygiene Shop of Horrors.
And I suppose those scare tactics had a certain value. I always left thinking I should floss more.
But based on today’s visit, a lot has changed over the last 20 years. There are televisions, toys, games and prizes. There’s a helium tank for filling up balloons and a “sticker station.”
That’s not an operatory light, it’s a giant flashlight for finding treasure! That’s not an electric toothbrush, it’s a little race car that drives around in your mouth – hear it buzzing?!
That’s not a vacuum, it’s a giant straw! Want to taste the magic water straight from the Pik?
Excuse my french, but these people have this shit down to a science.
“Miss Kim,” the hygienist, could have convinced Colt to let her do open heart surgery on him right there.
Todd thought the total bill of $175.00 was “outrageous.”
But he wasn’t there to witness the professional level of psychological manipulation that took place.
I mean, our child DIDN’T WANT TO LEAVE.
Think about that.
I would have paid FIVE hundred and seventy-five dollars for this experience. The lasting effects could be priceless!
He could love brushing his teeth so much that we never have to pay for a filling. Ever.
Better yet, he could BECOME a dentist one day.
Then he could take care of his aging parents, and we could live at one of those nice retirement communities on the water.
(If you want the number to this place, call me. They have two locations.)