The 90210 Dentist

Upon moving to LA I asked a new friend if she could refer me to a good dentist. She could. She raved about Doctor BigSmile and gave me his number. He was in Beverly Hills.

Hoo wee! It's fun for a fresh-off-the-boat LA transplant to drive through Rodeo Drive to get to her dentist. Ride up the posh elevator. Be greeted by a receptionist who wears a suit!

Little did I know that BigSmile had BigRent to pay at his nice offices. While all I wanted was a cleaning every six months, he wanted to bleach my teeth, bond my teeth, give me a nightguard so I wouldn't grind my teeth, and, by the way, come back every four months for a cleaning. The hygenist made my teeth bleed and told me that if you aren't bleeding, you're not getting a real cleaning. I was getting my money's worth.

The last straw was when, just after I'd paid another bajillion dollars on my way out, the receptionist said, "So when do you want to schedule the bonding for?" I looked at her blankly. "I don't want to schedule the bonding. It's not in my budget at the moment." She persisted, "You know we can do a payment plan, right?"

Yes, I friggin' know! You tell me every single mother-bleepin' time! I know already!!! We can do a payment plan!

I didn't curse at the Suit Lady, partially because I was afraid she'd knock me out with general anesthesia and stuff my body in the clearance rack on her next trip to Loehmann's. Instead, I went home and wrote a letter to BigSmile thanking him for the good times and telling him that he can save his pressure-sale dentistry for the people who like payment plans, but it was time for me to go.

These days, I walk down the block to my neighborhood dentist. It's a father-son operation. There's a receptionist in jeans, a hygenist who praises my flossing efforts, and a dentist who does nothing but clean my teeth.