|
What
Do You Like Best About Me?
By Jay Wexler
____________________
Vera Salvaggio arrived on time for her 3:30 dentist appointment at the office of
Dr. Robert Q. Smolover, DDS. Three hours earlier, after finally succumbing
to the throbbing pain in her upper left molar that had been driving her mad for
the past week, she decided to find herself a dentist right away, with no delay,
on the double, at once, pronto, straight-away, forthwith, tout-de-suite. As
a member of a health maintenance organization, she was then of course forced to
choose a dentist randomly out of a book filled with men and women at the nadir
of their profession, most of whom had gone to dental schools at places like the
University of The Arctic Circle or the Chad School of the Dental Arts, to name
two of the particularly strong ones. Armed with both pieces of information
provided on each dentist by the HMO book, Vera decided that Dr. Smolover, who
had at least attended a dental school in a developed nation and was somewhere
between 24 and 84 years of age, would have to do the trick. Though she
nearly gave up on the whole idea when Dr. Smolover answered the phone himself at
his office by saying nothing but "hello," leading Vera to ask if she
had indeed reached a dentist's office, to which Dr. Smolover had said simply,
"uhh, yeah, I guess," the intense upper-molar pain impelled her onward
to secure an appointment, which, it turned out, was easy to do, since Dr.
Smolover hadn't had a patient since 1992.
When nobody answered her repeated knocks on the door, Vera let herself into Dr.
Smolover's office. Vera decided that the place resembled more of a shoe
repair store than a dentist's office; she reached this conclusion by observing
that she was surrounded on all sides by shoes in various states of disrepair and
shoe-repair equipment and a sign that said "Smolover's Shoe Repair"
and also by noting the complete lack of a dentist's chair or a waiting room
or any dental equipment of any kind. She looked around for the dentist
tentatively, still mindful of the pulsating pain in her mouth and vaguely
hopeful that somebody in this dusty shoe-strewn cavern could make the pain go
away. "Hello?" she said. "Is anybody here? Dr.
Smolover? I'm here for my 3:30. Hello?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm right here," said a voice coming from a far away
room. Vera waited for the source of the voice to enter the room she was
standing in, but nothing happened. After waiting another minute or so, Vera
ventured in the direction of the voice, opening door after door until she
arrived in a small living room, outfitted with a fake Persian rug, two worn
black leather couches, an outdated hi-fi system, a large black and white
television with a round channel dial and no remote control, lots of dust
bunnies, and a full-sized dentist's chair with a working overhead light and
spittoon-type contraption. A middle-aged man wearing a white coat was
reclining in the dentist's chair smoking a cigarette.
"So, there you are. I thought you'd never fucking make it," said
Dr. Smolover.
"Here I am," Vera responded, relieved to find that she apparently had
made an appointment with a real live dentist. "But what type of
dentist smokes and swears at his patients?" Vera wondered.
"Well, you gonna have a seat or what?" Dr. Smolover continued. "I
ain't got all fucking day. I've got lots of shoes to put back together, you
may have noticed."
"Oh, yes, of course I'll sit down," Vera said. "But, umm,
right now you're in the dentist's chair. I'll just wait for you to get up. I
mean, it wouldn't be appropriate for me just to sit down on top of you, now
would it? How would you be able to examine my teeth and gums?"
"Oh, great, a goddamn intellectual," the dentist said, taking a long
drag on his cigarette and blowing out a stream of smoke in Vera's direction. "I
got Max fuckin' Weber over here."
"It's not really that I'm an intellectual," Vera responded. "I
was just making a basic point about how it's impossible for one person to
examine another person's teeth if both people are sitting on the . . ."
"Oh, shut your muffinhole already," Smolover blurted, rising slowly
from the chair. "Just sit the hell down and open your muffinhole
so I can take a look." The doctor crushed his cigarette out in an
ashtray on top of the tray holding his various mirrors and scrapers and lit up
another one.
Vera, unsure whether she was had made a terrible, terrible mistake, nonetheless
took her position in the dentist's chair and waited for further instruction. "But
what kind of dentist refers to a patient's mouth as a muffinhole?" she
wondered.
"Well, you gonna open your muffinhole or what?" Dr. Smolover asked,
approaching his fidgety patient.
Vera opened her muffinhole.
"All right, then, let's take a look." Smolover pulled a
flashlight out of his coat and shined it at Vera's mouth. He looked up top
and then down below. He studied her incisors and looked with great interest
at her molars. He shook his head in disgust. "This shit's fucked
up," he barked. He stood up, looked down at Vera with dismay, brought
his cigarette to his lips, inhaled deeply, and blew a cloud of smoke into Vera's
face. "They're gonna have to come the shit out," he announced.
Vera was shaken. "What do you mean, come out? Only one of them is
giving me trouble. And why are you smoking? Is that right?"
"I'll tell you what's right and what's wrong," Smolover retorted. "Who
do you think is the shoe repairman, I mean dentist, around here?"
"Uhh, you?"
"That's right. It's me. And I make the rules around here. You
got that?"
Vera felt a painful twinge in her upper left molar and decided to submit to the
dentist's authority. After all, he had graduated from the fifth best
unaccredited dental school in all of North Dakota. "Yeah, I got
that," she answered.
"Good," said the dentist. "I'm glad you have finally come
around to see it my way after all this time." He stared at her for a
few seconds and took a deep drag from his cigarette. He turned his head and
blew the smoke out away from Vera's face. Vera was pleasantly surprised by
this apparent newfound concern for her welfare on the part of the dentist.
"Can I ask you a question?" asked Smolover.
"I don't see why not," Vera replied.
"What do you like best about me?"
The question took Vera Salvaggio completely by surprise.
Vera had expected a question bearing on her dental condition. Perhaps
something that inquired into her flossing habits, or brushing habits, or her
choice in mouthwash. She also would not have been surprised if the question
had concerned her eating habits, such as whether she ate a lot of sugar, how
much celery she consumed, that sort of thing. And although it would have
been a little odd if the dentist had asked her something about her dressing
style, she would not have been nearly as surprised as she was by the question
the dentist actually asked. For example, if the dentist had asked her
whether she usually wore skirts (she was wearing one now) instead of pants, or
whether she preferred natural fibers to artificial ones (she didn't), she would
have been surprised, sure, but not so surprised as she was now.
"Uhh, umm, well," she muttered.
"It's not that difficult a question," Smolover retorted. "It
is simple, straightforward. What do you like most about me? Is it my
personality? My skills? My looks? My dental
degree? The way my many leg hairs peep out between my nylon socks and my
woolen pant leg?" He raised up his woolen pant leg to give Vera a peek
at his black and bristly leg hair.
"Oh, no, it's not that," Vera exclaimed. "Sweet Jesus, it's
not that."
"Well,
then, what is it?" Smolover probed.
Vera
tried to think of something. She looked up and down at this swearing,
smoking dentist, and tried to figure out what she liked best about him. She
didn't much like his looks. He was mustached and sort of creepy. She
certainly didn't like his chair-side demeanor. And his dentistry
credentials weren't tip-top either. So, what was it that she liked most
about him? She thought about it a bit longer, and then it came to her.
"I like your participation in my health maintenance organization
best!" she exclaimed.
Smolover stared sternly at Vera. He took a deep drag on his smoking stick
and blew a cloud of smoke into Vera's face.
"What's wrong with my tennis shoes?" the dentist spat.
Vera coughed. "Can you please not exhale smoke in my face again?"
she pleaded.
"What's wrong with my tennies?!" he asked again. "They're
from the New Balance company, and they've got great insoles!"
Vera didn't really know what to do. She looked down at Smolover's feet. His
sneakers were pretty natty, she had to admit. They were blue, with a nifty
yellow design. They appeared to have excellent side support, and the fabric
was impeccable. "But what kind of dentist asks what you like most
about him, and then insists that you should like his sneakers best?" Vera
wondered.
"What's it gonna be, Salvaggio?" inquired the dentist.
"Well, uhh," Vera muttered. "I guess your sneakers are
very good. I suppose they are what I like best about you."
"Yes! Fucking A, YES!!!!" exclaimed the ebullient dentist,
breaking suddenly into a wild Irish jig. "My tennies are the best, my
tennies are the best," he sang.
Just then, a young and perky blonde woman threw open the door to the dentist's
office and strode confidently inside. She took off her stylish black
leather coat and laid it down over the arm of one of the leather couches before
anyone could react to her presence. "Am I late?" she inquired
harriedly. "I'm sorry if I'm late, Doctor Smolover."
"Oh, no, you're just in time," said the dentist. He turned to
Vera and introduced the two women. "Vera, this is Katerina, my
intern. Her favorite cheese is Muenster."
"Actually, I like Stilton just as much as I enjoy Muenster," Katerina
said, outstretching her hand to shake Vera's. "Very nice to meet
you."
"We've got a really interesting case here, Katerina," Smolover
reported. "Would you like to take a looksie?"
"I'd love to," responded Katerina.
Katerina
took the flashlight from Smolover and approached Vera. "Can you open
up for me?" Katerina asked.
"Don't
you want to say the word 'muffinhole'?" Vera asked.
"What?"
"Oh, uhh, nothing."
"I
know what you're thinking," Katerina said, as Vera opened her mouth so
Katerina could look inside. "You're probably wondering how come I can
like both Muenster, which is a mild cheese, and Stetson, which is rather
pungent."
Vera nodded her assent. She had thought the dichotomy was odd, although not
really as odd as the fact that Katerina had brought the subject up at all.
"I'd explain it to you," Katerina said, looking carefully at all of
Vera's gums and teeth. "I'm afraid, however, that I just don't want
to."
"Mmmmm," Vera grunted.
Katerina fell quiet. She examined Vera's mouth for quite a while longer,
periodically shaking her head in abject disgust. Finally, she stood up,
sighed, turned toward the spittoon contraption at the side of the chair, hacked
a few times, and spat a huge loogie onto the floor. "You're up shit's
creek without a paddle, sugar blossom!" she exclaimed.
"What? Wait a minute," Vera replied. "I don't know what
you're talking about. I just have one small tooth that's giving me a
problem, and you're acting like I'm going to need a mouth transplant. Just
where did you go to dental school, anyway?"
Katerina let out a robust guffaw. "Dental school?" Katerina asked
through the laughter, "I think you've got it all wrong there, sister. I'm
Doctor Smolover's shoe repair intern."
"Shoe
repair intern?" Vera yelped.
"Yeah. That's right. And I'm damned good too. You should see
what I can do with a worn out insole. I fixed those very sneakers on Dr.
Smolover's feet right now for goodness sake. Now just sit back and relax. This
will only hurt a bit." Katerina took a long needle from the tray and
poured a hefty amount of a well-known antihistamine into its chamber.
Vera was crestfallen. Not only had she made a dental appointment with a
smoking, swearing shoe repairman who hadn't worked on a dental patient in nine
years, but she also had not even had the mental acumen to realize that
Smolover's shoes were hand-me-down pieces of crap. What the hell was she
doing, she wondered. Had things really come this far? Were Smolover's
shoes really so worn down? She looked at Katerina with her enormous needle,
and at Smolover, who had lit up another cigarette and was looking intently at a
pair of purple pumps, and she figured that her life had become a joke. What
should she do? Should she lean back and accept the quasi-oral surgery that
it looked like Katerina was about to perform on her, or should she break out of
her mental imprisonment and flee the scene without ever looking back? Time
was running out, the needle coming closer. Vera closed her eyes…
"Open up," Katerina ordered.
Vera knew this was her last chance. She gathered her strength. She
felt her wits returning to her. "No," she said, quietly.
"What?" said Katerina.
"Hold on a minute," said Smolover, dropping the pumps.
"You heard me," Vera said, sitting up in the chair. "I will
not open my mouth. You two are not competent dentists. You are primarily
shoe repair people. And I am not confident that you will adequately be able
to treat my dental problems. I'm afraid that I'm just going to have to
leave. Thank you for your help, but . . ."
"What?" interrupted Katerina, pulling back her needle. "You're
not actually going to leave, are you? Did somebody hit you with a silly
stick or something?"
"I cannot fucking believe this shit," bellowed Smolover.
Vera was taken back a bit by Smolover's outburst and by Katerina's reference to
a "silly stick," whatever that was, but she had seen enough in the
past fifteen minutes that she was no longer surprised by anything. "You
better believe I'm leaving," she explained. "I just wonder
why I didn't leave the minute I stepped foot in this place. I mean, you've
got to be kidding me. You were just about to try to numb my teeth and gums
with an antihistamine, for Christ's sake."
"You can't leave," Katerina said. "You've got an
appointment. You have obligations to fulfill. You have
responsibilities."
Smolover, meanwhile, started shaking uncontrollably with anger.
"What do you mean, responsibilities? My only responsibility was to
show up for my appointment at the appointed time, which I did. I have no
further obligations to you or to anyone else. I'm out of here."
"But this is a reciprocal relationship," pleaded Katerina. "There's
reciprocity to deal with. What are you going to do about that? Do you
have a plan for that?"
"SIT IN THE GODDAMNED CHAIR RIGHT NOW," screamed Smolover, jumping up
and down. "SIT YOUR CABOOSE DOWN!"
"You can't just do whatever you want," Katerina added, a tear coming
to her left eye, "just because you feel like it."
"PARK IT, CHIPMUNK!" screeched the dentist.
"There are rules in this world, you know," said Katerina, the tears
seriously welling up now. "These rules exist to guide human behavior. And
you are a human, so you have to follow the rules. You have to follow the
rules because you are human."
"I WAS BORN ON THE MOON."
"I'm going to have to call the morality police on you," blubbered
Katerina.
"MY UNCLE WAS A PANDA BEAR."
"All right, that's it," Vera said, heading for the door. "I'm
going to report you to the better business bureau, or the American Dental
Association, or the American Shoe Repairperson Association, or whatever the
appropriate association is."
Smolover fell to his knees, dropped his cigarette, and grabbed his head with his
hands. He shivered uncontrollably. He started weeping. The
cigarette bounced off the implement tray, rolled on the floor, and came to rest
by the door to the office, where it smoldered and sizzled like a smoldering,
sizzling rolled up stick of tobacco.
Katerina wiped her tears and scowled at Vera, who had opened the door and was
about to walk out into the hallway. "Will you look what you have
done?" Katerina said. "I hope you're proud of yourself. I
bet you think you're some big hero or something."
"Umm, I'll be seeing you later," Vera answered, with a dismissive wave
of the hand.
"You're going to regret this some day," said Katerina, sitting down on
the dentist's chair and pulling a piece of Muenster cheese from her pocket. "Someday
you will regret what you have done here today. Someday you will be confined
to the fires of hell for what you have done this afternoon."
Vera walked towards the door and stopped short at the sizzling cigarette. Realizing
how dangerous it would be to leave a cigarette smoldering in an office full of
such incredible lunatics, Vera stomped the thing out with her right foot,
breaking her heel in the process. "Oh, damn," she exclaimed,
taking off the shoe and looking disappointedly at its brokenness.
"Is anything wrong over there?" Katerina asked, shaking the slice of
Muenster in Vera's direction.
"Umm, uhh, well, yeah," muttered Vera. She held the shoe towards
Katerina. "Do you think you could take a look at this?" she
asked.
"No," answered Katerina. "I don't know the first thing about
shoes."
____________________
When
asked for a biography, Jay Wexler was heard to reply: “Bio? How
about Jay Wexler lives in Manitoba where he eats lunch and cares day and night
for his pet skunk Stanley.”
|
