Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Bite your tongue

My teeth hurt. They really hurt. I haven't been to a dentist for four years, but hey, that happens when you live out of home and your mummy and daddy don't pay for everything.

I finally figured I could afford to spend a little of my tax return on my teeth. So I randomly looked up a dentist in the Yellow Pages and made an appointment. I estimated that I can spend about $300 on my fangs.

So there I am, a poor penniless girl (as I would be since we don't have pennies per se in Australia anyway) and I look at the address I had scribbled down, and glance up at the building. It's this massive, beautiful art deco building. There are marble floors, wood interiors everywhere. The elevator doors look like they are made of copper, and list some ludicrous establishment date (I didn't know there were white people in Melbourne in 1840). The inside of the elevator is bigger than my bedroom.

When I get to the right floor, there so much security that I have to buzz reception and stare at a security camera. The receptionists all wear black uniforms with collars so sharp you could cut cheese. The other patients in the waiting room are all grannies wearing pearls and toting expensive designer bags. I resist the urge to run out screaming because my teeth just hurt so fucking much.

Then this supermodel type woman, wearing four inch stilhettos, approaches me. Turns out she's my dentist. She leads me to the 'suite'. There's a floor to ceiling water feature. There are greek-esque sculpture thingys etched on the ceiling. She opens the blinds, and to my astonishment I can physically see Melbourne Town Hall from where I'm sitting.

So here I am, trying to figure out how I managed to pick Melbourne's most expensive dental clinic. I mentally picture how empty my wallet is going to be every time she opens my mouth.

My treatment will cost me over a $1000. That's more than I make in a month. FML.

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