TOWANDA!

My fourteen-year career in dental hygiene has been a long series of disappointments marked by intermittent and fleeting sparks of fulfilling positivity.

I have never been employed for longer than a year at any job in my entire working life. I’ve been fired more times than I care to admit, and quit jobs acrimoniously with equal frequency. This happens for the same reasons, only changing in magnitude and location, and will likely keep happening until I’m dead.

I take full, unashamed, and unapologetic responsibility for these reasons, as I accept that I either cannot change them or refuse to. With each failure and defiant victory, I’ve learned something new, spent considerable time reflecting on what I did wrong (or right, in several cases), and worked diligently to alter my behavior in the future to avoid certain unpleasant outcomes.

The first reason has to do with my autism. In an effort to “be a team player,” or (to be brutally honest) to try to appear more likable and agreeable, I take on far more than I can mentally or physically handle.

I’ll pick up additional shifts without giving myself time to decompress. Or, I’ll continue tolerating irritating, immoral, or unprofessional (sometimes illegal) fuckery without appropriately expressing my concerns with management until something snaps and I lose my shit.

This leads to catastrophic autistic burnout, where I’ll become physically ill with dread, leading me to either habitually arrive late to shifts due to a health crisis brought about by acute stress, or become so paralyzed at the thought of engaging with other humans that I call out altogether. This essentially forces my employers to fire me—and justifiably so.

I had mitigated this issue considerably by switching to doing fill-in full-time, as not showing up would result in possibly getting kicked off the apps I use to find work. If I can’t get work, I can’t pay my bills, and I don’t ever want to be broke ever, ever again.

I am also able to take time off as needed, so I’m in much less pain, significantly improving my mental health. Not seeing the same people every day and denying them the time necessary to discover that I’m a rule-following, regimented, obnoxiously thorough, and highly bizarre pain in the ass is also quite beneficial.

The last three months, however, have been exceptionally brutal. I’m not sure when everyone in dentistry turned into insufferable mouth breathing dipshits, but I have never hated this profession more than I do right now. These newly graduated dentists do not respect hygienists as licensed professionals who come with years of experience and essential knowledge of which they have little understanding, but are under the delusion that they can do our jobs better than we can.

News flash: they can’t. And every time these uppity fuckwits treat me like a retarded mouth maid whose only purpose is to shut up, scrape the funk off people’s teeth, blindly obey their unreasonable or incompetent demands, and stuff their pockets with the profits of my labor, it makes me feel about an inch high. I don’t think my ego can take much more.

I am not a brainless robot. I do not want to work in a profession where my extensive knowledge isn’t valued, my professional opinions are ignored, and I have no control over determining a patient’s best course of treatment. I hate that my ability to eat and pay my bills is contingent upon people whom I loathe and do not respect because they do not respect me as a human with feefees. I am done with working my ass off only to be told time and time again that it’s not good enough, and by extension, that I’m not good enough.

Which brings me to issue number two…

The second reason concerns my rigid sense of justice and personal professional code of conduct. It is this reason I want to concentrate on in this post.

My dental career began after a failed attempt at college, which I was psychologically unprepared for. My father, a dentist himself, offered me a job as a dental assistant for a year while I put my life back together and figured out my future.

By the end of my first shift, I was hooked. Dentistry was the last career I considered while making the not-at-all daunting decision of what I was going to do to feed myself for the rest of forever as a severely mentally unwell, chronically and dangerously addicted, behaviorally unhinged, and emotionally fragile twenty-year-old. I had experienced a series of life-altering failures and violent traumas in rapid succession, and my broken ego desperately needed any modicum of success to help glue it back together. And as that first day of my dental career came to a close, I started thinking that maybe, hopefully, I wasn’t just an irreparable fuck up.

My dad taught me something every day. I enjoyed the meticulous artistry and precision I saw my father masterfully display as he worked his craft. Before I knew it, I was making perfectly poured, bubble less stone casts from alginate impressions, whitening trays with perfectly placed reservoirs for the whitening gel so it wouldn’t burn tender gum tissues, learning how to make nervous patients more comfortable during their appointments (and to never say “oops” during a dental procedure), correct (and very, very incorrect) sterilization protocols, and how dental insurance was generally evil and should be yeeted into the sun.

My father is NOT an easy man to work for. He has a lightening-quick temper that is easily triggered by innocuous stimuli, expects excellence from himself and the rest of his staff, is gruff and intimidating when his rail-thin, 6’4” frame is towering above you, his dark beard standing on end like an angry hedgehog, his dark eyes constantly analyzing and judging your every move to see that a task is done correctly.

But he has a great big, booming laugh that can be heard throughout the office, had patients that absolutely adored him (the goodies he brought home at Christmas time were EPIC), had loyal staff that stayed with him for decades, who he paid generously, treated fairly, and ensured they always had sharp instruments and quality equipment. He donated his time and talents doing Mission of Mercy free dental clinics throughout the state, was candid and conservative when diagnosing and recommending treatment, and always did his very best work on every single patient without cutting corners or “selling” dentistry of any kind.

He wasn't perfect and was stubborn about letting go of some “old school” techniques and habits. Since I was staying with my parents during the week and driving four hours back to my boyfriend’s house on the weekends, I had to endure my dad’s nightly critiques and tales of dentistry before the time of “universal precautions” and Google reviews. Monday through Thursday, it was all dentistry all the time, providing easy access to a wealth of knowledge, as well as excellent lessons in self-control as I fought the overwhelming urge not to use dental cement to bond my dad’s mouth shut. Living and working with your boss is not a career move I would endorse if one intends to keep one’s sanity.

But I did recognize that I was being given an amazing opportunity to learn from the best, ultimately forming my firm belief that his overall ethos was the correct (and only) way I would approach my future dental career.

I wanted to have more autonomy and make more money than a dental assistant, so I enrolled at another college—the highest-rated dental hygiene school in the state. With renewed vigor and clear direction, I beat out hundreds of other applicants, gaining one of 32 precious spots in the dental hygiene program.

I progressed through my lectures and clinics with the unwavering goal of landing in a dental office just like my father’s. I didn’t realize I was under an utterly naïve, wholly unjustified, certified derpling delusion of unknown origin that all dental offices were going to have equipment that worked, clean operatories that were ergonomically designed and comfortable to work in, and were well-stocked with perfectly sharpened instruments with pleasant staff who supported each other. I also believed the sophomoric and laughably asinine fantasy that all dentists were going to be like my dad: stern, ethical, honest, driven, reputable, perfectionistic, staunch, knowledgeable, beneficent, conscientious, and charmingly weird.

Holy shit, was I an idiot of mythic proportions.

I won’t regale you with the chronicles of every single dental practice I’ve ever had the misfortune of working for (there have been hundreds at this point), but I’ll touch on the most memorable highlights that come to mind during my career in this hellish profession:

1) My very first permanent job was severely traumatizing, as my boss was an unhinged Israeli sadist who would tell me contradictory commands, then become irate when I did what he asked and not what he wanted. He made someone in that office cry every single day, typically starting every shift with a morning huddle where we would be told everything we screwed up the day before, devoid of reasonableness or common decency shared among polite society.

Eventually, I disappointed him yet again by doing absolutely nothing wrong. The note I made in my patient’s chart about the prophylactic antibiotic they took before their appointment was factually accurate and clearly stated, he just didn't like the WAY I wrote it. Yes, this is the level of pedantic jackassery I had to deal with on a daily basis. The office manager harassed me continuously the entire day requesting a meeting with the doctor. I told her no, that he was going to yell at me, I was going to cry, and nothing would be accomplished.

The two doctors and the office manager cornered me as I left for the day to do exactly as I had predicted. They went on and on about how I wasn’t doing anything right, I was making thoughtless “mistakes,” I wasn’t working hard enough… And after hearing that lie, knowing I had worked harder to please this man than I had for my own father (or recently acquired husband), my brain glitched. I temporarily went deaf as my heartbeat became the loudest thing in the room. My peripheral vision turned to black, the three humans in front of me disappearing into inky darkness. My skin burned as every hair follicle tensed against my clothes.

“Are you going to answer?”

The office manager’s question broke whatever dissociative spell I was under. I have no idea how long I had been standing there. But the months of pent-up rage I’d kept buried down deep caused by the unrelenting emotional abuse I had experienced in that office and at home from my husband amalgamated with the unbearable embarrassment I felt in that horrible moment of clarity, violently obliterating whatever self-control I had left.

I snapped. I told all of them I was fucking done, I quit, and to fuck all the way off. I ran back to gather my license as hot tears nearly blinded me, but I refused to give this sadistic monster the pleasure of my tears. I stole a plush Huey the Scaler (that I still have to this day and is featured in the title picture of this post) that I found dusty and abandoned the day I was hired and used to keep kids happy during their cleanings. Pulling my framed license and little stuffed Huey to my chest, I ran like my hair was on fire out to my car as they all stood slack-jawed and dumbfounded in the doctor’s office.

The office manager called a few days later, requesting that I return the scrubs they had purchased for me four months prior. I rubbed those clean scrubs all over my dogs, the floor, and the toilets in my house, put them in a garbage bag, and tossed them by the back door in an act of petty revenge.

2) I was a long-term fill-in for a hygienist with a detached retina who had undergone multiple surgeries to correct. I had been there most of a year when she finally announced, to literally no one's surprise, that she couldn’t return to work. I assumed they would officially hire me, as I was eager to lock in a permanent position.

The older doctor had officially retired about a month prior, and a new lady doctor, fresh out of school, came in to fill the void. The older doctor’s business partner, an odd, prematurely balding, creepily quiet man, then became the practice owner.

The office was closing early due to winter weather. Everyone had gone home, and I was just about to leave when he called me into his office. I thought certainly this was my moment, and he would be offering me a permanent position.

It was at this office that I began my permanent damnation in a state of perpetual dental purgatory and torment, my mental illness ceaselessly compelling me against my will to clean decades of deposits left sub-gingivally by incompetent hygienists who wanted to be liked and complimented as “so gentle” by every patient more than they wanted to be ethical and effective. No joke, this hygienist I was filling in for only cleaned her patients’ lower front teeth, polished, then sat and talked to them for thirty minutes. And no one seemed to care but me.

This was very early in my career when my hands were not as strong and hardened as they are now. My fulcrum finger (right ring finger) developed a thick callus and debilitating nerve pain after seeing her patients for several months. The callus has remained my entire career; I no longer have any feeling in the tip of that digit, the nerves having said “nope” many years ago. I don’t trust any hygienist who still has feeling left in this crucial appendage. It got so bad, I had to wrap my finger with a cotton 2x2 before placing my hand inside my glove to give my poor little digit some padding against sharp incisal edges. The shooting nerve pain up my hand and into my forearm was eye-watering.

His face told me I was not about to be rewarded for my hard work and considerable physical discomfort. He informed me, coldly and emotionlessly, that they would be “looking for other applicants,” without giving me an explanation. He just told me sorry and to drive safely. I was so stunned and hurt that I walked out without giving a response. I was too upset to trust my brain or my mouth to form coherent speech. In the heavily falling sleet and chunks of snow, I ugly cried all the way home.

3) I had to report a doctor to Medicaid and the Dental Board, as she was openly (and gleefully) discriminating against Medicaid patients and performing fillings on literally every molar—actual decay was entirely optional.

After I refused to adjust a permanent filling intraorally on my patient (a highly illegal practice she had been encouraging her dental assistants to do on fillings, crowns, bridges, and partial dentures like it was a completely normal and expected job duty), she vacillated between pretending to be my best friend and favorite employee (likely hoping I wouldn’t discuss “that little nothing back there” with anyone), to passive-aggressive mean girl slinging cringy digs at my appearance. I caught her forging a perio chart I had just completed on a patient to justify an SRP, prompting her to gaslight me with Jedi mind tricks: “These aren’t the probing depths you’re looking for…” The final straw was when I told her the new filing system she was implementing with the help of a professional office system coach was discriminatory.

Since I can hear you asking, no, I had never heard of an office systems coach either. The doctor hired a Tennessee company to “fix” her struggling practice. In her mind, this meant fixing all the behaviors she found objectionable in her staff. I honestly don’t think it ever occurred to her that her revolting behavior towards Medicaid patients, her substandard technical skills, and her willingness to brazenly lie and commit insurance fraud were the least bit problematic.

A hilarious aside...

The dental lab she used to make her patient’s crown and bridge work once included a hand-drawn doodle pointing out that her crown preps looked like this: (____) and they needed her to prep them like this: /____\ if she wished to continue using their lab in the future. I’ve heard of plenty of dental practices breaking up with labs that repeatedly delivered poorly crafted crowns. This was the first time I’d ever seen a lab break up with a dentist for expecting them to perform miracles with a dentist’s geometrically impossible crown preps. That note was some poor lab tech’s desperate cry for help, and the last fuck they had to give from their jar of fucks before it was made bare. I laughed my ass off.

I had also discovered during that office makeover process that she was purposefully refusing to give Medicaid patients a treatment plan to sign and give back for their records to hide all the unnecessary dental work she was doing, which is legally considered assault and fraud on hundreds of patients.

Thinking I was just being insubordinate, she complained to the office coach about my claims, who told her I was right and that she shouldn’t fire me. Apparently, her ego couldn’t tolerate the audacity this man had to tell her she was wrong, and really couldn’t tolerate it when I said “I told you so” to her face. My give a damn was long gone at this point, so I was lobbing softballs at her, knowing the bitch couldn’t fight the urge not to swing.

I was fired in a loud and overly dramatic fashion, which I happily accepted with righteous gusto.

Due to my exceptionally detailed complaint, her ability to see Medicaid patients was revoked, she was placed on professional probation, and issued a suspended license (albeit temporarily) by the Dental Board for encouraging her assistants to do her dentistry for her, falsification of medical records, performing unnecessary and substandard treatment, failure to provide informed consent, and misrepresenting the quality of care rendered. I consider it one of my greatest professional victories.

4) I worked for a doctor who was going through an ugly divorce. He moved his office to a larger building, then moved himself into that office, as his irresponsible spending habits and his vengeful, soon-to-be ex-wife rendered him homeless. He stayed in a little room in the back, sometimes leaving beer bottles around the office, occasionally dragging his mattress outside in the dirt so he could “sleep under the stars” with the homeless man he befriended and allowed to camp at the back of the property.

One night, he took a black marker and drew unintelligible, disturbing streams of thought all over the walls, floor to ceiling, in his “bedroom.” The patient’s bathroom was right next to this “bedroom,” which was separated by a badly hung shower curtain and emanated a foul smell of body odor, spilled beer, and rotting food.

A few weeks later, I turned my computer on one morning to find porn in my face at 9am, causing me to rip him a new asshole and chastise him for his disrespectful and inappropriate behavior. I should have left then, but he begged me not to go, and I felt guilty for abandoning him when his life was going to hell. I didn’t realize that my life was getting ready to take the same dramatic turn—that my marriage would end catastrophically after finding my husband naked in my hot tub with another woman (who had the ugliest tits I’d ever seen), I’d end up homeless, jobless, my friends would stab me in the back and abandon me, the most contemptuous malignant narcissist would become president, I would turn 30, then end up in the hospital for ten days after back-to-back suicide attempts. I was much more easily manipulated back then, and it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

A few weeks after that, I saw my first patient, and the doctor reeked of body odor and alcohol as he did his exam. He disappeared for a few minutes, then announced to me, the assistant, and the receptionist (both having also worked at the office I mentioned in #3 on this list) that he is broke and “mentally can’t do this anymore.”

My final paycheck bounced, and he was eventually evicted from his office for non-payment. I never saw him again, but heard he was camping with the (purposefully) homeless travelers downtown.

5) I worked in a Medicaid clinic where I was assaulted by a patient I attempted to probe, pushing me into the door frame and throwing the napkin chain in my face. A large percentage of the patients we saw had severe medical issues, were destitute, and/or had uncontrolled mental illness.

One patient I’ll never forget was a sixteen-year-old girl who needed a complete set of dentures, every tooth black and decayed flush to the gumline. She came with her whole family, who smelled so badly of cigarettes, literal shit, and mouth rot, we had to clear the clinic and deodorize with air fresheners we purchased from the grocery store across the street.

I arrived at work one morning to find human excrement and heroin needles by the back entrance. Then another morning. And another.

I was so traumatized and burned out by that office, I kept calling out until they eventually fired me. I didn’t work in another office for over a year after that, deciding to go back to retail and becoming a bra specialist at Victoria’s Secret (a job I loved, but left after I worked my ass off and was rewarded with a raise of exactly ten cents).

6) An office I worked for was bought by a corporate company, the previous dentist, a sweet and goofy little man having retired and was replaced by a very young and horrible woman who hated everything about my personality. I had endured several meetings attempting to come to some sort of compromise about the aspects of my personality she took issue with. I wasn’t chatty enough. I’m the reason patients are leaving. I’m too thorough. Telling patients they need more than a “regular cleaning” because the previous hygienist was a lazy shithead makes everyone look bad. I’m not friendly enough. I look scary and need to be perkier. On and on and on it went. Explaining autistic flat affect and social anxiety to this woman was like describing the mechanics of walking to a shark. I couldn’t decide if she was really that dimwitted or being purposefully obtuse.

She was ten years younger than me and had only been out of school for three years. She didn’t anticipate that I would have my own critiques about her clinical skills…

Expecting me to repeat the same small talk with every patient is insane, and hearing her do it all day makes me want to die of cringe, knowing how glaringly insincere she was. I’ve never worked at a job where my personality was constantly attacked, and this would be the final time I would have this discussion. I don’t care if patients don’t like me. I’m providing a service. I do it politely, but I am not their friend, and I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to give a fuck. I’m not here to entertain them. Her willingness to accept sub-par work was highly concerning to me, and the reason why so many patients currently had severe gum disease. Selling unnecessary dentistry when patients are in pain with a dental emergency will undoubtedly piss people off because they feel exploited and unheard. Using ambiguous, minimizing, and phony upbeat phrasing when diagnosing treatment confuses and angers patients, and puts me in the horribly awkward position of explaining that no, everything doesn’t “look fine” because they actually need three crowns. Stop it. It's manipulative and looks dishonest. No, patients are not leaving because of me. They are leaving because no one told them they’d be seeing an entire practice of new faces they weren’t familiar with, and people get mad at unexpected medical surprises.

I had zero intention of staying after my 90-day probationary period was over. I don’t stay where I’m obviously unwanted and unappreciated.

As part of the corporate transition, a new office manager was placed with a personality I can only describe as bequeathed by the wrathful god of the Old Testament. Her wardrobe consisted primarily of cheetah print, leading me to pejoratively name her “The Cat Lady.” I have a rule that I refuse to remember anyone’s name if I’ve decided they’re a detestable asshole, as my memory is precious, limited, and I have better things to fill it with.

Instead of mutually ending my employment like reasonable adults, The Cat Lady called me into her new office after everyone had left on Thursday afternoon. Before she departed, the lady doctor told me to have a good weekend and that she’ll see me on Monday. The bitch knew full well what was about to happen, but allowed me to be ambushed by this conniving, villainous witch.

Sneering like a Cheshire cat in heat, her overly processed, bleach-blond hair crunched as she looked up from her desk to glare at me standing in the doorway. Her skin was severely sun-damaged from a lifetime spent playing golf and yachting with her husband, a man I didn’t know but couldn’t help but pity for being shackled to this supercilious, scheming shkapeh.

Getting right to the point without the typical feigned concern and regret, she lied, claiming I refused treatment on a patient with cerebral palsy, whom I absolutely did treat. I was also informed that I refused to clock out after being directed to do so. And now, for these reasons, my employment was to no longer continue, so if I could just sign right here acknowledging this—

Excuse me??

I have three rules: do not fuck with my time, do not fuck with my money, do not lie to me. Everything else is forgivable. I wouldn’t dare make myself exempt from my own rules to do that to anyone else.

I didn’t care that I was being dismissed. I was disgusted by the insinuation that I refused to do my job and stole money by riding the clock. I was fighting for my honor and my reputation. I demanded that fictitious feline floozy to pull up the patient’s chart and read my clinical note, noting the time stamp to prove my innocence. She refused, looking bored.

She held out a pen, urging me to sign the document and to return my office key. I looked that hag directly in the eyes and told her she could shove that bunch of lies right up her puckered ass. I was not about to sign my name to fabricated crimes on anything resembling an official legal document that I could easily prove I did not commit. I grabbed my purse and chucked my key in the week-old trash in the break room for her to sift through.

I only had two weeks left of my probationary period, and I would have stayed until they found a new hygienist. But unfortunately for them, they chose violence. Even more bizarrely, they fired me without having anyone to replace me, causing them to cancel weeks of appointments, royally fucking themselves over (the other hygienist had also left due to this awful doctor).

The only explanation for this lunacy I could surmise was that the lady doctor hated me enough that she couldn’t wait to force me out in such a cruel and unjustified manner. Like most lady dentists, she was a petty mean-girl with vulnerable narcissism who enjoyed picking on the quiet autistic girlie just trying to earn a living. Typical baby millennial boss bitch bullying behavior.

I was almost immediately hired at another office (mentioned next in #7 of this list). Using a fictional name and claiming to work at a periodontal office on the other side of the city, this unhinged, two-faced, self-serving, smarmy, cowardly, shmatteh lady doctor attempted to spy on me for unknown reasons, asking very personal, inappropriate questions that my new office manager refused to answer.

I still had the lady doctor’s cell phone number and texted her asking what the fuck she was doing. She lied and gaslit me, claiming her phone was stolen and hacked (the number was listed on the office’s caller ID, and she was replying to me on this same cell phone). Clearly, she wasn’t the brightest bulb.

When the corporate owners of this practice contacted me again months later for an interview after seeing my resume online, WITHOUT BOTHERING TO NOTICE I HAD ALREADY WORKED THERE, I told them all about the way I was treated and the insane behavior of this twisted doctor. I found out later from the assistant who quit shortly after I left that the doctor was inevitably fired. Good riddance.

7) I was horribly bullied by two hygienists and two receptionists in the office I worked at following the office mentioned previously in #6. But I made the mistake of getting emotionally attached to my loyal patients I had developed strong connections with who only wanted to see me.

The stress of working in such a toxic environment gave me severe gastrointestinal issues that caused me to miss work frequently. A hateful patient who lied on a Google review finally sealed my fate. That story can be found in another post titled “I’m Too Old For This Shit.”

8) I dealt with the worst case of supervised neglect I have ever seen, which I discussed in a previous post titled “Clean Up on Isle… Everywhere.”

9) I was assaulted by another patient at an office with the meanest patients I have ever worked with in my entire career.

My patient arrived twenty minutes late. I typically will not see anyone past the fifteen-minute mark. I’m not going to ruin my day busting my ass playing catch-up because your rude heiny didn’t respect me or all the patients coming in after you enough to get to your appointment on time. I am thorough, I work slowly, I do it right, or I don’t do it at all.

“No,” was not a word this woman was familiar with. She marched past the receptionist, declaring over her shoulder as she walked to the clinic, “It’s just a cleaning. There’s plenty of time.”

She sat in the dental chair. No hello. No apologies or explanations were offered for her lateness. No thanks for seeing her because she has a super important reason she needed it done that day. She just looked at her phone and refused to acknowledge my existence.

Insulted and annoyed, I said, “Well, hello to you, too,” donned my loupes and gloves, and let out an exasperated sigh. After a quick assessment, I quickly realized I would have to use the cavitron on this woman, as my attempt to hand scale was way more than I was able to physically handle. I briefly explained how the cavitron works, warned that it might be a little messy and will vibrate a bit, to which I received no objection.

I barely got to the second tooth when she lurched out of the chair, grabbing both my wrists and shoving me so hard I rolled backwards in my saddle chair.

Horrified, I stared at her, eyes wide with panic, frozen with the mirror and cavitron tip in my hands. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING???” she growled at me. My stutter came back with a vengeance. I tried to apologize but I knew I just sounded like a bumbling buffoon. My instinct was to tell this bitch to fuck off and reschedule. But against my better judgement, I told her I’d reduce the intensity, then asked if she was OK so I could continue. She told me yes, that I could try again.

I took a deep breath to force my hands to stop shaking, repositioned my mirror, put the cavitron tip next to her third tooth, activated the peddle, and waited a few seconds to make sure the suction was adequately doing its job and check that the water wasn’t too cold. Thinking it was safe to proceed, I held my breath and adjusted the mirror slightly, moving the cavitron tip to begin cleaning interproximally between #3 and #4…

WHEN THE STUPID BITCH GRABBED BOTH MY WRISTS AGAIN and shoved me even harder than the first time.

But this time, there was no stunned silence. I threw my instruments down on the tray, hit the floor button to put her up in the chair, ripped off my gloves and stood up over her. “Let’s get you rescheduled,” I said, frigid, uncompromising, and aggressively direct.

I shit you not, this cunt folded her arms in front of her chest, leaned back, and said, “Well, I don’t want to reschedule unless I ABSOLUTELY have to,” with a tone that was so condescending, entitled, and quintessentially “Karen-esque,” my ears burned with rage. “Oh, you have to,” I replied, refusing to give an inch.

She let out an indignant huff. “Is there someone else I can talk to? Someone who isn’t so… upset?” The way she said this made it clear she did not give a fuck that she was the cause of my “upset.” She was annoyed that my “upset” was inconveniencing her, and she was asking to speak with someone who would give her what she wanted.

“Absolutely,” I said with as much fake, “the customer is always right” attitude as I could muster. “I’ll tell my manager what you did, and she’ll be happy to speak with you.” I turned on my heel before she had a chance to say some dumb shit to me that undoubtedly would have initiated violence.

I went to my office manager and told her everything. She was baffled, but told me she would handle it. I went to the employee bathroom and finished having my panic attack. I hid back there until the insufferable twatwaffle was gone. The patient was rescheduled with another hygienist for a different day, and told she wasn’t allowed to put her hands on us for her safety and ours.

Things just weren’t the same after that. The temperament of my patients never improved, despite several attempts to alter my behavior using a trial-and-error method, hoping I’d be received better. Nothing worked. I kept calling out, unable to manage the stress, until they finally fired me. Honestly, I kinda fired myself, and I was relieved to leave that place.

Just to add insult to injury, it took them six months to give me my final paycheck, which felt very much like they were trying not to pay me, as every attempt got the runaround. I’d tell them just to mail it. Nothing would arrive. Would say I could meet the manager somewhere. He was too busy at another location. Would offer to come get it. It was never a good time.

I finally told them the day and time I’d be there, fully planning on parking my ass in the waiting room indefinitely until I had the check in my hand. Thankfully, dramatic gestures of defiance weren’t necessary, and I was in and out in less than five minutes.

I discovered as I was writing this that the dentist who owned the practice (whom I never met) legally had his name changed for advertising purposes that got him in trouble with the Dental Board. This same doctor also had his license suspended for five years for giving his patient a bad root canal that caused the patient to lose the tooth. He no longer practices, and according to his LinkedIn, wants to open a burger restaurant.

10) About two months ago, I was sent home after seeing three patients on a fill-in assignment.

I arrived early in an excellent mood, walked in and said hello to the receptionists who pointed in the direction of the break room and told me what operatory I’d be working in. They never got up or introduced themselves, which I found a little odd. I found where I’d be working, washed my hands, and did a quick appraisal of my cubby for the day.

I assumed someone would be in shortly to give me the usual rundown of office protocols and sign me into the computer. So I waited. And waited. I walked up and down the halls asking for help, receiving nothing but blank stares. I felt invisible and profoundly uncomfy. What the fuck was going on here? I know I’m skinny, but I’m not made of cellophane.

I waited a few more minutes, nervously checking my watch, when someone walked past my operatory. “Hey! Can you log me into the computer. I'm the temp hygienist.” She was overweight, her scrubs pulling dangerously against her belly rolls. This woman was one questionable fart away from an embarrassing wardrobe malfunction.

She let out an annoyed sigh, and introduced herself as the lead assistant. No name. Just “The Lead Assistant.” Well, good morning to you too, Miss Shitty Attitude. Did I have lobsters coming out of my ears? Why is everyone treating me like I have a highly contagious disease?

The way she spoke to me made it crystal clear that she was entirely unimpressed and had decided I was a smooth-brained imbecile. I was trying to hide my ever-increasing anger as she droned on and on about things that were a well-understood part of my normal job description.

As she condescendingly explained my job to me, to my horror, she reached down and touched the hand piece rheostat and ultrasonic foot pedal with her bare hands, then started typing in the password for the dental software on the computer. My eyes went wide and I turned to look for gloves and cavicide wipes to disinfect everything this uneducated twit had just contaminated with dental floor cooties. I won’t even touch the bottoms of my own feet without immediately washing my hands in my own house. I refuse to touch ANYTHING on the floor of a dental office without gloves, as is the only acceptable behavior of all civilized medical professionals.

She then looked me up and down like a farmer judges an underweight, dried-up heifer bound for the slaughter house and informed me they had lab jackets for me to wear (I hadn’t yet put mine on). But when I politely refused, explaining my skin issues (described in a previous post titled “Kitty in a Frying Pan”) and showed her my clean, professional, stylish, knee-length black jacket, she scoffed and demanded I wear theirs instead. When I not-so-politely refused again, she raised an eyebrow, looking smug, and told me she’ll “have to tell the doctors about this.” Her tone insinuated that I was about to pay dearly for this rejection. She left my operatory, having made me ten minutes late for my first patient, leaving me to wipe down everything she may have touched before I hustled to get my first patient from the waiting room.

No one in this office told me their names, including the doctors. No one showed me around the office, so I couldn’t find anything. The entire front office staff looked at me in disgust, rolling their eyes and audibly huffing and puffing when I bumbled about trying to check out my patients without knowing their protocols.

After finishing my third patient, I saw that my whole day had been canceled, a large gray block filling the space where my full day of patients used to be. The Lead Assistant popped in and I asked what happened to my patients. She looked disturbingly maniacal as she lied to my face, telling me “the schedule fell apart.”

I then found out they also lied about paying me the same day, and seemed to think they didn’t have to pay me for the entire shift—as was guaranteed in my contract. I explained this to the two hateful receptionists and The Lead Assistant, showing them my contract. They all rolled their eyes and said they would speak with the temp app staff about that, very convinced of their very wrong assertions.

They handed me a piece of paper upon which were written instructions for submitting my hours to their finance department, who will then send me a check in the mail. “This is not what I agreed to when I accepted this job,” I replied as they wiggled the paper in my face, urging me to take it. “Well, that’s our policy,” the receptionist quipped, saying nothing more. I got up and told them to have a nice day, purely out of politeness, but they didn’t respond in kind.

I drove home in the pouring rain, utterly discombobulated as to what the fuck I had just experienced. I immediately contacted the temp app staff to explain what had just happened. I was told to give an honest review and block them from future bookings.

The next day, I saw they had left ME a horrible review, claiming I didn’t record my notes in my patients’ charts (I did), and that patients had complained about me (all three patients I saw seemed perfectly happy with my work and were pleasant to work with, so I’m calling bullshit on this, too). They accused me of making “inappropriate remarks about the physical features” of one of the doctors. This one confused me, until I realized I had referred to a doctor as “the bald one” when asked who did the exam, as that was the same description my patient used. Since the asshole didn’t introduce himself to me, I had no name to offer, and didn’t think such an obvious and defining feature was at all “inappropriate.” They claimed I was insubordinate for refusing to wear their cheap lab jackets or use their autistic anxiety-triggering walkie-talkies I honestly completely forgot about, further claiming that I was unprofessional and unintelligent. I’m surprised they didn’t also accuse me of Satan worship and sacrificing newborns to drink their essence.

Everything they wrote was a lie. I can handle being called all kinds of things, but if you call me stupid, I will end you.

I can’t confirm this with 100% certainty, but I believe this was discrimination based on my appearance. I’m heavily tattooed and pierced (although my lab coat covers the most offending bits), and the vibe I was getting was that I was trash, worthy of being treated horribly by these seemingly conservative, and possibly extremely religious staff (I do live in the South). This has only happened once before by a patient, but I have never been so epically mistreated by office staff en masse in my entire career.

I made a complaint with the temp app staff, explaining how I was treated and how the review they wrote about me was all false. My negative review wouldn’t result in any considerable consequences to such an enormous practice. They were fine with losing most of a day’s revenue when they canceled my patients and essentially fired me. So money wasn’t much of a concern to them. A negative review on my public profile would directly affect my ability to book jobs, eat, and stay comfortably housed. The malicious and vengeful lies would have permanent and catastrophic consequences to me as a human. I honestly can’t fathom being that evil and devoid of empathy.

The temp staff agreed to take down their public review of me, but refused to remove their one-star rating on my perfect five-star profile, reducing it to 4.5 stars. They also removed my review of them, stating it was a she-said/they-said situation. I was livid, but they wouldn’t do anything else to help rectify this injustice. I’m still planning my revenge.

11) A week after working at the office discussed in #10, I was sent home early, and my shift was canceled for the next day, by an office manager who dismissed my treatment recommendations and prescribed some fancy treatment that would have been redundant and unnecessary because SHE decided (not the doctors) that it was best for the patient.

I was, yet again, removing deposits another hygienist had left after doing a deep cleaning, but didn’t have enough time to complete. I had several holes in the schedule for the next day, and the patient was more than happy to come back for me to finish.

Having told this to the receptionist, her braindead reaction was to then put the patient with the hygienist who had done the shitty cleaning in the first place, as well as a subsequent maintenance cleaning where she again failed to remove the remaining deposits, and to repeat the fancy treatment she had already done that was ineffective and pointless instead of the root planing I was masterfully executing that would have actually fixed the issue. Fucking brilliant.

Morons… I’M SURROUNDED BY MORONS!!

This receptionist had never worked as a clinical dental professional. Ever.

Over the weeks I worked in this office, I realized the doctors were doing the majority of SRP cases. And knowing that doctors can’t clean teeth worth a damn, I started taking x-rays on patients who had recently had deep cleanings to check for sub-gingival calculus. Every single patient had huge boulders remaining that were clearly visible on the radiographs, and were very obvious to me after seeing the health of their gums intraorally.

The number of patients I saw during my time there with shoddy dental work was staggering. My work had been nothing but professional and I received rave reviews from patients.

But this receptionist went on a power trip and dismissed me when I still had patients on my schedule for the afternoon.

I was pissed. They didn’t pay me my contracted amount, and the temp app company I used to book the job refused to advocate for me AGAIN for the way I was treated (the same app I referred to in #10 of this list). At the time, I was the highest-rated hygienist in a 50-mile radius working in five huge cities.

I have since been permanently banned from that app after giving an angry, snarky, yet brutally honest, and civil review (in my opinion, but clearly not theirs) of their platform and offered ways they needed to improve. That app and their policies were garbage, heavily favored dental offices over hygienists, and left hygienists vulnerable to being abused by office staff.

This included not vetting the offices who used their platform, docking an hour of our pay if an office sent us home early for "scheduling reasons” the office may need (they couldn't tell me what those reasons were after repeated attempts to understand this bullshit policy), reviews of offices were made public so you could never give honest feedback for fear you wouldn't be requested again, they only paid us $75 if an office cancels last minute instead of guaranteeing our full rate like other apps do, they forced us to send in a screenshot of a paper timesheet instead of adjusting the hours instantly through their app like it's 2010, offices were allowed to opt out of paying us directly through the app so we had to wait around for physical checks, which gave offices the opportunity to short our hours and payment… The list goes on.

I hated everything about that app, and I wasn't sad to be rid of it. Almost every office I worked in that used that app was dogshit. Nubs for instruments, NO instruments (that story can be found in the post titled “There Will Be Blood”), mean staff, idiot doctors, broken equipment. The difference in office quality between the ones on Cloud versus other apps was like comparing a Datsun with a Bugatti.

12) I worked at one office off-and-on for about a year, which was a bit chaotic, but the staff and patients were nice.

My last patient one day was a kid with a highly reactive gag reflex who needed x-rays. Thinking I was hot shit, I grabbed the salt (a trick I'd learned early in my career that had an extremely high success rate) and put a tiny bit on his tongue. I placed the sensor, took the x-ray, took it out (all at lightening speed using a handheld Nomad x-ray unit), and thought everything was Gucci.

About fifteen seconds later, this kid throws up goopy black sludge on himself. No warning. No reason. Then he just sits there dumbly with it running down his shirt as more erupts. I grab him by the arm, pulling him to the sink two feet away, a mouthful of vomit in my hand and more splattered on my shoes.

Now, here's the thing. I can handle all kinds of funky filth, but the smell of vomit and the sound of someone upchucking their lunch initiates a chain reaction that necessitates forceful breathing exercises as I fight the reflex to empty my innards.

So, I'm standing there, puke in hand, trying to find my zen, thinking of all the mistakes I've made that have led me to this moment, frozen in place, unable to do anything but focus on keeping the contents of my stomach safely contained and not violently ejected all over this disgusting child as he heaves into the sink and all over the countertop. Seconds seemed like hours.

But eventually, the kid's mother wakes me from my dissociative mental state to inquire if I'm alright. Still clutching the x-ray sensor and Nomad to my chest, I gently set them down on the counter and rinsed the vomit off my glove so it wouldn't splatter, then removed both gloves and managed to squeak, "No," before walking straight to the bathroom, locking the door, and bursting into tears.

Another hygienist finished his cleaning in another operatory. I tried to clean up the vomit, but almost immediately started retching and had to abort the mission.

A few weeks later, at this same office, my last patient (who wasn't confirmed and already ten minutes late) looked like he wouldn’t show up. So, I went to work in sterilization before leaving for the day, trying to be helpful and happily chatting with the gaggle of dental girlies.

One of the receptionists appeared and asked me if I wanted her to seat my patient. "Excuse me?" I look at my watch, which says 4:25. "You expect me to clean his teeth when he's 25 minutes late??" They did. I wouldn't. They canceled the next eighteen shifts I already had scheduled because THEY fucked up and couldn't get off their fat asses to inform me when the patient actually showed up at 4:12, could have been seen, and wouldn't require me to stay 30 minutes longer than I'm contracted to.

They punished me for their ineptitude and pettiness, and had the audacity to feel entitled to my time that I was unable to give. I had busted my ass at this office, got vomit on my pretty Danskos, and they dumped me like week-old garbage because they didn't do their jobs. Obviously, I'm still really salty about that one.

Badum chhh… 🥁

And finally, my most recent disappointment happened at an office I had been temping with most Thursdays (and some Tuesdays) over the past year. I thought I had finally found a happy place.

The staff was lovely, the doctor seemed competent and reminded me very much of my dad, they bought me lunch every week, the patients loved me and many only wanted to see me, the instruments and equipment were in good condition, and I was content.

But over time, things started to look increasingly less rosy.

I had a severe, acute medical emergency happen one morning, causing me to cancel my shift. The last thing I wanted to do was disappoint this dentist, but my temperamental gallbladder really doesn't give a shit about my needs and wants. I couldn't help it. I can't force my body to behave when it intends to cause a kerfuffle.

I don't want to dismiss the strain this puts on a dental office, because the loss of revenue and the frustration of rescheduling patients when open appointments are extremely limited is very real and not a small matter.

But the reaction I received was colder and more hostile than I anticipated. His demeanor towards me changed dramatically after that, and I knew my time there had an expiration date.

If a patient needed more than just a prophy, the doctor would become very irritable, and I was asked on multiple occasions to "do the best I can," going against what I was taught and feeling trapped.

His nearly identical personality to my father's turned me into a little girl on the verge of tears every time I was put in the position of choosing between doing what I knew to be amenable with my professional standards and wanting to earn his approval to receive much-desired and desperately needed head-pats.

The fight between these two monsters was tearing my insides in two, and I was starting to respect him less and less for making me pick sides.

Then I noticed his failure to diagnose treatment on teeth that clearly had decay, which I would list on a post-it for him to check (he preferred that I remain mostly silent during his exams). He would tell me to note it as a watch on the chart, but I described the obvious areas more explicitly in my notes as back-up to cover my ass.

I could never figure out the method to this madness. Did I misread him as another idiot who couldn't see what was clearly there? Was this a passive-aggressive game he was playing to assert his professional dominance over my findings? Was he terrified of angering patients if he told them they needed treatment?

When he would finally concede to my professional assessment of a patient's more intensive dental needs, he would tell me that he had talked with the patient before about needing XYZ treatment, and they would probably refuse to get it done.

Not once did a patient remember having that discussion before or refuse the periodontal treatment he suggested. Is he lying to me? Why the unjustified pessimism?

Then finally, it all went to shit. I had woken up early, had a nice breakfast, left a little early, had my tunes blasting in my car to hype myself up for the day, made it to the interstate, and found myself in an epic traffic jam.

It was a parking lot, barely inching along with no end in sight, four lanes of morning rush-hour vehicles locked together in a slow-moving mass. An emergency sign told me there was a wreck at an exit up ahead. I broke into a panic-induced flush.

I grabbed my phone and took pictures of the tightly packed cars and the emergency sign, sending them to the receptionist—a semi-retired hygienist who I had considered a professional friend—to show her I was telling the truth about why I would be late. The snail's pace I was forced to move wouldn't break, so I sent updates every few minutes with my progress.

I moved less than a mile in ten minutes. The dread I felt in my gut at the doctor's anticipated anger with my tardiness intensified. There's nothing more I can do than accept my fate and hope he understands my predicament.

The reason for the congested clusterfuck finally came into view. A small four-door Hyundai got into a fight with a dump truck. The dump truck clearly won, having ripped the car almost completely in two. I had serious doubts that anyone could have survived that kind of devastation. For the second time this year, I had to witness the aftermath of another human's demise on my way to work (the first one I addressed in a previous post titled "There Will Be Blood").

Fucking hell...

I finally get to the office almost 40 minutes late and made my way upstairs. I walked to the back to put down my purse, and come face-to-face with the doctor. "I'm so sorry..." I started, but he cut me off. "You need to get to work on time," he growled.

No hello. No glad you're finally here and safe. No empathy or understanding of any kind. Just rude, curt, incomprehensible, unreasonable meanness. "I... I... I got caught in traffic," I stuttered, confused as to why telling me this made any sense whatsoever when someone else's (likely) tragic accident was totally outside of my control. "There was a huge wreck! Did Lisa show you the pictures I sent??"

He didn't respond, and I kept walking to the break room to put down my things.

I was livid. I was done. What an asinine thing to say to me. No shit, Sherlock. I was going to be here on time with room to spare, but I can't control when someone wants to do the twist with a fucking dump truck. What do you want me to do? Teleport??

Tears welled up and threatened to ruin my mascara. The assistant informed me that the doctor had started my patient's cleaning. I had every intention of finishing the patient waiting for me and telling this fucking disappointing dick head dentist to get bent.

I apologized to the patient, trying to hide the hurt rage stuck in my throat. I had to be extra careful that the seething contempt and unbearable urge to give up and go home ruminating throughout my brain wasn't made manifest in my hands as I worked.

It looked as if the doctor hadn’t done a damn thing, so I still had a whole mouth to clean, and very little time to do it in. This doctor was as useless as he was hurtful, just like so many I’ve worked for over the years. I scaled as fast as I could and as carefully and thoroughly as I could, but knew I would be running far behind. I assumed the doctor had done his exam, but I thought I should make sure.

I finished and asked the doctor if he needed to see the patient again. He informed me that he did, AND PPROCEEED TO SIT DOWN AND DO A FULL EXAM. What. In. The. Actual. Fuck? So instead of being ten minutes behind, I'm now twenty, and so angry I can feel my ears getting hot and every fiber of my being demanding I run away from here and find a high bridge.

The other full-time hygienist came in to help me turn over my room after he left, and she saw the tears in my eyes. "I can't. I just can't. I want to go home." I told her, trying not to squeak. She gave me a very sweet pep talk as she helped me and encouraged me to stay. I told her I would, but I don't think I can come back. I couldn't tell if it was just pity or actual disappointment on her face.

A little later, Lisa, the receptionist, came in and asked for my order for lunch. I told her thank you, but I didn't want anything. It felt wrong to be so blindingly angry at someone, then to eat a meal on their dime.

When lunch came around, I saw my favorite salad sitting out with my name on it. "I knew you were just grumpy, so I ordered you lunch anyway," she told me, smiling. The kind gesture almost made me cry again.

I made it through the day and left without saying anything to the doctor. He owed me an apology I knew I would never receive. I still worked a few shifts after that, but I was cold and detached any time I had to interact with him.

I was looking at my calendar for July and messaged Lisa to ask if there were any days she needed me to work. She kindly and gently told me that he wanted to find another hygienist and that I was no longer wanted. She explained that he didn't like it when patients needed to be rescheduled, and was frustrated with my time management issues. I told her I knew this was coming, that I had been done with him since the traffic accident incident, that he needs to pull his head out of his ass because I can't help that some patients need more than a regular cleaning, and that I can't work with someone I resent.

She wished me well, and that was that. Another year, another failure to add to the list.

I'm tired of being asked to compromise my ethics.

I'm tired of being treated like disposable office furniture or an emotionless machine.

I'm tired of dealing with patients who will never know how I've destroyed my body to maintain the level of professional excellence I hold myself to, unfailingly, my entire career.

I'm tired of working in offices with dull instruments and broken equipment because the doctors are too cheap and think so little of our contribution to their practice that they won't supply us with the tools necessary to do our jobs effectively and safely.

I'm tired of cleaning after lazy hygienists who can't figure out how to clean the distal of second molars, or literally anywhere sub-gingivally.

I'm tired of dentists thinking hygienists aren't worth what we're paid.

I'm tired of temping app companies allowing offices to abuse us, not supporting us when we're treated badly, and not taxing us as W-2 employees like they're legally supposed to.

I'm tired of denying myself the joy of having loyal patients who only want to see me because it's too painful to leave them when I'm no longer wanted.

I'm tired of the disrespect, the unethical and sometimes illegal shit these "professionals" demand I do, and the uncomfortable silence as I tell them, in no uncertain terms, I will not, and to go fuck themselves—sans lube… with a cactus… infected with chlamydia… covered in sand… by a 250lb deaf and blind dominatrix who can't hear their safe word or see what hole she's using… made into a meme so the whole internet can laugh and they'll become an endless source of shame to their mothers…

What? Don't look at me like that. A girl can dream.

Ugh, buzzkill. Moving on.

I love dentistry, but I'm tired of the people who work in this field who won't do dentistry the right way, and I want out, dammit.

This blog has actually held the key to my escape, and I have been quietly, but publicly, working on my ultimate goal. I intend to pursue graphic design to nurture my digital art skills and finally do a job I enjoy.

I've been taking every opportunity to work with other YouTube creators to help with logos and thumbnails, designing profile avatars, and continuing my cult project with Ed and Fangs the Bunny.

No ethics to challenge. No joints to abuse. No patient anxieties to soothe. No fuckwit dentists to silently hate working for. No biohazards to clean. No high-pitched sounds to give me headaches. No lazy dipshit hygienists to clean up after. No more pretending to be someone I'm not every minute of every shift. No more feeling like a failure because my personality isn't compatible with many aspects of dentistry as a business. Dentistry has abused me long enough, and I want a divorce.

I still have lots to learn about graphic design in terms of the business side of things. But I've got a solid understanding of the software used widely in the industry and I trust my creativity and tenacity to fill in the rest. I've got an ever-growing portfolio of work that highlights my talents and that I'm proud to show the world to people that really seem to appreciate it and reward me with numerous head-pats. It'll be a gradual transition, but one I'm excited (and terrified) to make.

I'm done. I want to be my own boss and have a job that gives me joy instead of one I dread. This is my official notice. And this time, I get to do it on my terms without apologizing for who I am and what I need. I gave nearly seventeen years (including my time as a dental assistant and years attaining my degree) and most of my sanity to a profession that never loved me back.

Consider this my Towanda moment from the fabulous movie, Fried Green Tomatoes...

"Honey, I'm older and I have better insurance."

...Maybe without the purposefully ramming my car into another vehicle owned by a pretty blond with bouncy boobies and a bubble butt who rudely cut me off and stole my parking spot, bit.

Eh, fuck it.

TOWANDA!!!!

*hums Motorcycle Drive-by by Third Eye Blind*