the chewed refuse giving rise to a suspicion that another piece, together with its constituent mercury, had been swallowed. This may explain my occasional jump to the left when walking down Fitzroy street, where I am lucky to live (if it were any other street they would think it strange!).
I only surmise this after seeing a documentary on lead poisoning in pre-war Tokyo; the cats were nervously leaping to the left and right while trying to make their way along the path. I also know of the debate in Australia, involving two schools of thought, on the issue of amalgam dental fillings. The up-side of all this is that I had just accidentally got rid of one, albeit half down my gob.
A smartly dressed lady at a tram stop in South Yarra recommended her dentist; she assured me that he was "absolutely marvelous". I decided to pay him a visit.
Dr. Jack Moore (not his real name) poured into the waiting room and filled it up with his effusive personality; he began to swim around in this primordial sludge, a regular smiling crocodile.
I was ushered into a comfortable consulting room where Jack proceeded to tell me of his considerable professionalism: he didn't do things by halves, he would conduct a thorough investigation of all of my dental requirements. "Sounds okay to me", "I said. He proceeded to do an x-ray of the problem tooth, but then shoved a lump of plasticine in my mouth and began to make a mould of my teeth from which he would make a cast. I was then taken up the hall to another x-ray room with a large machine that did the full smile: my head was steadied on a chin holder, as in optometry, and the camera ran on rails around my face, filming teeth.
I thought all this was a bit of overkill but liked the wizbangery, and was sold on the "true professional" speech; the tests seemed like proof of that. He filled the problem tooth with a non-lead substance as I had requested (I was afraid that another lead filling would add a jump to the right, taking me perilously close to "doing The Time Warp", an embarrassing piece of choreography that not even the denizens of Fitzroy street would tolerate).
The girl at the front desk handed me the bill: I read down the long list of unnecessary services until I got to the total which read, "$1,200.00". What is it with people? Have I been drugged and had "CHUMP" subcutaneously tattooed on my forehead, only read by x-ray machines? Gobsmacked, I sat down on one of the waiting room chairs to reflect.
It was lunch time and I was hungry, and feeling powerless in the face of this abuse of medical authority. I got to wondering what the Mahatma would do in a situation like this. I soon found myself eating the bill, in an act of passive resistance. On seeing me do this, the receptionist fled through the door to the consulting room, instantly producing Dr. Jack.
He asked if I was alright.
"Yes thanks; got a bit hungry so I'm eating your bill". I said, chomping into it like a goat.
There was a long pause as he stood there wondering what to do next. Eventually, feeling that we were at an impasse, I jumped up and said that I had to go. With this I hurried out the door leaving the scoundrel nailed to the floor.
The man was either thick or bloody minded as in the next day's mail came another bill and a letter stating that he had revised the charges and had decided to reduce the bill by half. It now stood at six hundred dollars.
Granted, I had made some progress but we were working down from a high peak. And the big question was, why had he reduced it? I hadn't complained about the bill, I merely ate it. He obviously had a guilty conscience and sensed trouble; he was trying to buy his release but still wanted the proceeds of his crime. I was determined that he would not get off so easy.
On a ring-a-round of local dental surgeries I discovered that the going rate for the work in question was about $150. I wrote a cheque for this amount and mailed it to the man with the chiselled teeth, with a letter stating that, without prejudice to my legal rights, he may accept this amount in full and final payment for his work.
I heard nothing more from him and his little scam which I have come to know is called "percentage professionalism". The practice generally involves the professional charging targeted patients, say, triple the normal fee, and then negotiating back from there. It is known that only about 50% will complain, and only 25% of these will insist on a return to the market rate, leaving the other 25% happy with some discount on the original. The net result is a substantial increase in over-all fees.
My next dentist requested the file and, much to my delight, I also got the x-ray with the big skeletal smile. Sometimes I get it out and gaze at it reflectively, "Alas, poor Henry”!
