The Upstory

I think I found the answer to the eternal question, “What could be worse than a trip to the dentist?”

Answer: A phone call to the dentist.

So, after getting the full-court press from Dr. Tooth, who I’m guessing is a former used car salesman, I opted for a second opinion. I needed dental notes and x-rays from The Gentle Tooth Doctor to be sent so I could get Opinion Numero Deux from a dental concern named, I kid you not, Dentists R Us (the naming conventions for dentists in this town are really beyond help). Anyway, believe me when I say (or read my last blog) that getting this information was like pulling teeth.

Second Opinion, in addition to being freeeee, included a look around the front office (neat, clean, organized, professional, good lighting, which is important to me, and staffed, which is important to everyone. Gentle Into That Good Night does not have a staffed front desk. They have a guy named Bob, in a T-shirt and jeans, who comes up to the front if he hears the chime on the door. And they have poor lighting, which as you know is a real deal-breaker for me and why I won’t shop at Big Lots).

So anyway, I find out that Dr. Tooth did indeed have an accurate diagnosis and I am duly noting that in the interests of transparency and giving credit where credit is due. And it’s explained to me by someone at DRU who knows how to communicate clearly and effectively and who doesn’t make me feel hustled. Interestingly enough the DRU dentist doesn’t have all the necessary x-rays, though. That’s because, in addition to all the other assistance provided by Gentle’s Helpful Office Manager, HOM neglected to send over the one set of x-rays that we really need. But of course.

I am impressed with the good lighting and professionalism of this dental office so I decide I’m moving from Go Away Gentle to DRU.

I call our dental insurance and have myself relocated. I tell Glenn. He decides he’ll move over, too, and we’ll take the Dynamic Duo, who are still on our insurance, with us.

Glenn says he’ll call Gently Be Gone and get our records forwarded to DRU and cancel his and Cody’s upcoming appointments.

That’s when the Flit Hit The Shan.

The person who answers the telly is the HOM.

She wants to know why Glenn is Going Gently. He says, “Are you sure you want to know that?”

Yes, of course she does.

The conversation now has reached the Moment of Truth. Mind you if that had been me on the call I would have said something mitigating like, “Because Dr. Tooth is not a good fit and because there have been multiple difficulties working with the front office.”

But Glenn, in Full Guy Mode said, “Well, because of you. I don’t like the way you dealt with my wife.”

And they were off and running. HOM didn’t come up for air for seven minutes (I came into the room in the midst of the call and stayed for the remainder of the blood-letting and I can tell you it felt like a lot longer than seven minutes).

HOM’s first, last and middle line of defense is nothing remotely like anything taught to people on the front line with customers. There’s a course called “Difficult Calls: The Right Words and Phrases To Say.” But HOM must have signed up for “Emotional Rants: Say Whatever Comes Into Your Head.”

HOM leads off with: Your Wife was rude and on edge.

Not a good start. Then she continues: HOM tried to help Wifely, who was unhelp-able (not her word but you get the idea). She would have helped Wife Woman more if she wasn’t so busy. She was very busy always. Her job is the absolute busiest. Bob agrees that Wife-ette is the problem.  Clients are mean to HOM because she is the person who has to deal with the clients.

And then the Pity Party began.

She feels horrible. Glenn is making her feel horrible. She is going to have a horrible day.
Her feelings are hurt. No one has ever said this about her (say and repeat, say and repeat).

Mind you Glenn couldn’t get a word in edgewise, during this Torrent ‘O Monologue.
As he said later, “I didn’t have to say anything, she was doing all the talking.”
Only a dude would look at it this way: “Hey, she’s not shutting up so that means I don’t have to think of things to say. Yay me.”

If this conversation was taking place between two females, I can promise you the Estrogen War Chariots would have been rolling and the verbal iron scythe blades mounted on each wheel would have slashed the conversational ball all over the arena. Yea, verily.

But Glenn doesn’t bite on her multiple bids for reassurance that she is nice/Wife-O is not. He doesn’t back down. He just waits her out. Finally, she runs out of steam.

And Glenn says (are you ready for this?):

“OK, well can you send the records to our new dentist?”

He isn’t even fazed! He picks up the conversation right where he left off before she went off the rails.

To say the tone of conversation changed at this point would be an understatement. HOM goes from Sad to Seriously Ticked Off, in the You-haven’t-listened-to-a-word-I’ve-said mode. She switches emotional gears immediately and snaps “YES.” Of course she can do that! She’ll do that right away! No problem! Grrrrrrr.

Glenn goes to conclude the call and HOM interrupts with still more verbalizations, thoughts, and heapings-on of crapola that put truth to the saying, “When you find yourself in a hole, stop digging.”

Now HOM goes into the apology phase of her presentation:

She told Wife-ums she was sorry.
She apologized 10 times. 10. (Count ‘em.)
She wants to apologize again.
She wants Glenn to tell Wife-ette to call her so she can apologize One More Time.

But Glenn is fast on his feet and dodges that particular minefield. He tells her that it would make more sense for her to call Wife-o-Rama instead. After all, HOM made it clear that she’s super-busy so we don’t want Wife-a-letto calling HOM in the midst of her hectic schedule. No, she should pick a time that’s best for her and call Wife-ers.

HOM doesn’t like that idea and kinda wiggles around protesting a bit. But Glenn is firm. HOM concludes by saying she’ll be calling Wife-O this afternoon.

I doubt this. More likely HOM will make this the centerpiece of everyone’s day. No doubt Bob will be the first to hear about it. I’m sure that by the time this afternoon rolls around, HOM will have gotten hugs from everyone she works with and been told, “there-there,” and probably have gone around the unstaffed waiting room soliciting reassurance from clients, most of whom wear hearing aids and are on oxygen, and can probably give HOM not much more than a “What did you say, dear?” But HOM will feel sufficiently validated and no longer in need of calling in Apology #11 (a-hem) to Rabid Wifey.

Finally, after seven long drama-filled minutes of absolute unprofessionalism, the call ends.

And, yes Virginia, this is what is worse than a trip to the dentist. For this there was no Novocain.