10. Three-Unforgettable-Questions
After Marvella and I had set-up AGD-Research, it was Switzerland that became one of our best countries for consulting-work. This was not that surprising as many companies established their European HQ’s there for various tax reasons, and their supply-chains were controlled from there. At this time in the early 00’s (the noughties) I was implementing a supply-chain solution for an international cosmetics-company based in Geneva, and I was doing my usual weekly-consulting with the occasional stop-over weekend to relax.
I had left my previous US based company on good terms, and I encourage everyone to do this if-at-all possible. The reason I left was over a point-of-principal that I can’t quite remember now, but it did seem tremendously important at the time (no-doubt exacerbated by my somewhat “atypical” personality). I had also always wanted to “steer-my-own-ship”, however unwise others thought that would be. To their great credit my employer helped me to transition, even arranging an accountant for us to look after our new business’s affairs. The name of the company was inevitable, “AGD-Research-bv”, and reflected all the “research” Marvella and I had selflessly-conducted in Amsterdam and beyond over many years (I was allowed a little-joke, wasn’t I?).
It was one of those stop-over weekends, and Marvella had joined me for the weekend to do some sight-seeing with me. On the Saturday-morning we decided to take one of the Lake-Geneva boats that zig-zag up-and-down the lake between the villages-and-towns on the shoreline. The one we were on was built in 1902 and driven by steam, which being a geek, appealed to me greatly. As we pulled-away from the berth, I was very impressed by the engineer as he attended to his massive pistons, with a grease-gun in one hand, and an oily-rag in the other.
It was also at this time that I noticed ever-such-a-slight ache to the top-left of my jaw. I ignored at as this had happened many times before, and would probably go away shortly. My teeth were not in a good state, probably as a result of a mis-spent youth (and I’m not talking about snooker here), but had been fixed-up by my dentist in Amsterdam. I had beaten his record for patients that hadn’t seen a dentist (twenty-five years), so was initially kept very busy. He specialized in nervous patients, and I certainly qualified as one of those.
As the morning wore on and we clocked-off the stops towards Lausanne one-by-one, the ache only got worse. After an hour it became unbearable; it was not going to get any better, and I was certain I knew what it was as it had happened to me before back-home. It was an abscess where fluid build up inside the root-canal of a tooth, putting immense pressure on the nerve there, and causing excruciating pain. The only solution was to find a dentist immediately, but how-the-hell do you do that on a boat in the middle of Lake Geneva, and on a Saturday as well?
Marvella and I got off at the next stop, a small village, where there was a solitary taxi waiting-for-custom at the dock-side. By this time, I couldn’t really speak and was just cradling my left-cheek trying to reduce the pain, if only by a few percentage-points, so Marvella spoke for me: “he’s got a very, very bad tooth; do you know a dentist we can go to?”. He babbled back, “yes, my dentist in Geneva, very good, they have emergency-service over the weekend, I take you there”, before pausing. He then asked us that first-and-most-stupid, unforgettable-question, I have ever heard: “do you want the scenic-route, or go by motorway?”. The scenic route, the fucking-scenic route, I felt like saying, but couldn’t. Marvella calmy emphasised the urgency of the situation, and we set off down the motorway into town at an alarming speed.
We were dropped-off at the entrance of his dentist-clinic, an ultra-modern building with posters of happy-smiley-people beaming at you with improbably wide-smiles and whiter-than-white-teeth. We entered into the spacious waiting-area and walked to the desk where the receptionist immediately grasped the severity of the situation. Her very first question floored-me, however predictable it was. It was not, “how bad is the pain?”, or “are you OK to wait a little-while until one of our dentists is free?”; of course-not; this was Switzerland, so that second-and-most-predictable, unforgettable-question was “and how are you going to pay?”. I flashed my American-Express gold-card, which was just-about the only luxury item I had, but reassured any sense of financial inadequacy. I could “mix-it” with the best, and didn’t need to use the tradesman’s entrance.
As an aside, never do what I did when “relaxed” one Saturday and received a letter from Amex suggesting that close-members of my family could benefit from a green family-member card. I filled the form in for Marvella’s teddy-bear, one Little-Bear, and sent it off. Two weeks later a dispatch-rider knocked on our door wanting L. Bear to sign for his new card. Total panic, but Marvella was eventually able to sign on Bear’s behalf. This kept on happening every few years until someone down in Brighton must have twigged.
Back at the dentist, I didn’t have to wait long as it was a well-funded private clinic, well-staffed with workers from across the EU, though probably not that many native-Swiss (why be a dentist when you could be in banking?). I was ushered into one of the dental-rooms where a young, lady-dentist welcomed me. She was from Portugal and like many ladies from there was small, unlike Dutch ladies who are large. X-rays were quickly taken, and I went back to the waiting room.
Just five minutes later I was ushered back into the dental-room where my self-diagnosis was confirmed; I had an abscess. She then suggested that the tooth concerned be removed as it was in such a bad state. I agreed, and she let-out a very loud “YES, YES” while punching the air with her fists, left, right, left, right, which was both disconcerting and unexpected. She then explained “as a dentist you very rarely get the chance to pull a molar-tooth like this, and she was looking forward to it”. She then gave me an injection into the gum by the tooth, which after another five minutes only dulled the agony, but did not stop it.
She pulled out something that looked like a large fountain-pen with claws at one-end which clamped onto the rogue molar-tooth and began to rock-it. It immediately broke. Plan-B it was then. She went to one of the side cupboards and pulled-out a pair-of-plyers that looked more like bolt-cutters, or some torture device from the Portuguese-inquisition. This was then used to grab the molar, and a tug-of-war between me and her began.
The pain was indescribable and I had to let-out the occasional yelp-and-scream. Marvella said you could clearly hear it from the waiting-room which made the patients there somewhat uneasy as to what was about to happen to them. Unperturbed she continued, rocking the plyers back-and-forward, and after a minute-or-two I could feel the ligaments snapping, one-after-the-other. Then, extracting all the strength she could from her small frame, she triumphantly yanked, which elicited an accompanying scream from me, and it was out. The pain stopped immediately. She went over to the sink and washed the molar before showing it to me. It was horrible, like a warthog’s tusk with holes up-and down it from decay, with specks-of-blood still attached.
She then asked that third-and-most-horrific, unforgettable-question, “do you want to keep it?”. I thought I had mis-heard, so she repeated the question (dentists are weird). I just replied “No”, and it was over. Just a thank-you to her and all the staff, a quick swipe of the Amex, and we were out. The memory that lingers is those three unforgettable questions; the most-stupid ever, the most-predictable ever, and the most-horrific ever, all within a period of an hour-and-a-half.