Stop reading this and go to the dentist right now. I'm not kidding.

I haven't been to the dentist in four years. I'm not necessarily proud of that; it's just a fact. That little tidbit in itself will not lead you into harm's way. It is when that nugget of information is overheard by a 3rd year dental student trying to pass her licensing exam that you must drop whatever you are doing and flee the country immediately.

Apparently, dental students must pass licensing exams to actually be able to stab your gums with sharp objects and then force you to pay them for it. Whereas my one-year-old nephew, Matthew, will stab you with just about anything for free. The tough part of the exams isn't the exams themselves. Instead, the challenge lies in conning some poor, unsuspecting friend of the family into being your patient. Here is one such story.

My parents befriended a couple, the Jellocks, on a cruise ship about five years ago. I don't know exactly how they met, but I can assume it was in the shade since Dad's skin ignites as soon as the sun hits it. The Jellocks have a daughter who was looking into attending Tufts Dental School and was flying into Boston to visit it. My Dad, being the nice guy he is, offered to pick her up at the airport and provide some housing while she visited. This is the same man who refused to ever pick me up at the airport when I flew in from college. Instead, me and my 110 pounds of laundry were forced to travel 45 minutes on the subway to a more convenient location for Dad to get me. But I digress.

Fast-forward 3 years and the Jellocks are visiting the parents for something and their daughter, Elizabeth, is at the house as well. I journey home; my guess is for some food, since I own a washing machine at this point. Of course, they are talking teeth and I mention that I haven't been to a dentist in about four years.

Rule #1 - If you are ever involved in a conversation with a dental student and the subject of dental visits comes up, tell them you just went that morning. Tell them you have your dentist on speed dial, that you go through a gross of dental floss a week, that sugar is disgusting, that you gargle 100% fluoride nine times a day. But never, ever, ever tell them you haven't been in years. Their eyes light up like a fat guy at Sizzler's all-you-can-eat buffet.

At this point, I am ok. There is no further contact between Dr. Teeth and myself and the encounter seems to be forgotten. By me at least. Unfortunately, Dr. Teeth has the memory of an elephant. One day, on the verge of tears because she hasn't been able to find a patient for her final piece of the exam, she somehow recalls this conversation and sets in motion an elaborately concocted scheme to sucker me in to helping.

It begins with a call to my Dad, she figures she can lay on the charm and try to elicit some pity from the old man and he can help her convince me. He remains steadfast, protecting his son like a good father should, saying he will not call his son regarding this matter...but he will be more than happy to give her his work number.

Rule #2 - Never gives your parents your work number. There is no caller id on the work phone. You can't screen properly. You think I was answering that call if her name flashed up? Don't think so. Of course, my guess is Verizon offers some "Dental Student Calling Plan" that shows there caller id names as "Free Hooters Calendars" or something like that to trick you anyway.

So I receive this call from Elizabeth who says she is looking for a patient so she can take this test. She mentions that all I have to do is come into Tufts to see if I qualify. I might not even qualify. Right away, she is dangling the out right in front of you, knowing full well that if you haven't been to a dentist in four years, there is a 99% chance your teeth are bad enough for this exam. Also, this needs to be done by April 29th, the day of the test. Her pace of speech picks up as I ask her what happens if I do qualify, and she mumbles something like, "Then we got to the regional site"...then I hear "Farmington, Connecticut". Basically, I will need to take two days off and drive a total of 320 miles to get my teeth cleaned.

Hmmmmm, how can I refuse such a great offer?

So I go into Boston and she tells me I make a great candidate. Loosely translated, my teeth have more buildup then the Friends series finale. Yeehaw, we are going to Regionals!!!

I get the follow up call and she tells me I need to be there by noon on April 29th. I leave the morning of around 9:00 AM and drive to lovely Farmington to the UCONN Health Center on a gorgeous 75 degree, sunny day. I arrive around 11:00 and meet up with her around 11:30, where she promptly tells me that check in is actually at 1:30 PM.

Rule #3 - Dentists lie about the time. A lot. You'll see.

Before we check in, she introduces me to her assistant, Amanda (or Satan In Training if you like), and then she goes over some of the ground rules of the test. She must take my blood pressure or she fails. I must wear the goggles at all times or she fails. I have to carry the tray of paperwork and other stuff around in the manner they tell me to or she fails. Then she mentions again that the test costs $900 again and it's only her career at stake.

After hearing all this I was probably thinking the same thing you are. Goggles? You kidding me? How good of a dental student could you be if you are shoving those tiny scraper things into my eyes? And what's with the tray? I have no prior waiter experience nor was I told that any was needed. (Which reminds me that my old roommate Smitty tried to be a waiter for about 3 days then fired himself because he was so bad at it. I love Smitty. We need to get him on The Restaurant; I am sure high comedy would ensue.)

Right before we check in she tells me I can't leave for anything, even to pee, or she might fail. Which of course just makes me think about having to pee for the next three hours. The time arrives and I get to the station where the exam begins. Elizabeth is in full gear, including the riot shield face protector. This leads me to believe that during this exam, the Cavity Creeps will be hurling stones and bottles at her. I am not at ease.

She does her preliminary check up and then sends me to the licensing examiners. They do their poking and prodding and then they send me back to her for the cleaning. I am using the term "cleaning" loosely here. There is a regular dental cleaning that you get on your six-month checkup then there is the enamel removing gum assault that is a licensing cleaning. Let the fun begin.

The first thing that happens is she gives me some kind of cherry flavored gum anesthetic, which reminds how much I hate cherry flavored gum anesthetics. Then, the Novocain shots follow. That's right, Novocain. For a cleaning. Of course, I enjoy the numb feeling for a little bit and it gives me a chance to use my "La La La...Miss Saigon...La La La" line, that only myself, PBH, and my buddy TJ Church know. Of course neither of them are there to share it with me because they are smart enough not to answer their work phones.

The assault begins with some high tech cleany type device that shoots water as it cleans. I gracefully drool all over the place since this is the first time I have seen a dentist in four years and am not up to date with the latest technology. They give me the suction tube and all I can think of is the Seinfeld episode where Mel Torme thinks Kramer's special because he just came from the dentist and is wearing the Jimmy jump shoes.

About 20 minutes in , I hear "Oooooh, look at that piece", as small boulders are being pried loose from my molars. Nothing quite like seeing two grown women get excited about calculus. (Technical term for teeth gunk, not be confused with that math class Ms. Fishman taught in 10th grade. For the record, if you are that size, you shouldn't wear tight jeans to teach. Just my opinion.)

The exam continues and Elizabeth asks me if I know that my gums bleed. I say "Yeth I do". She asks if anybody has ever told me why they bleed so much. I tell her its because she keeps stabbing them with metal instruments. At this point , every time I use the section tube it looks like someone poured a glass of V8 in my mouth. Can't this tube thing be a solid color so I don't have to see the carnage?

Amanda notifies Elizabeth that she has 5 minutes left and I am thinking, "Hallelujah". Then Elizabeth asks if it is a real 5 minutes or her 5 minutes. Amanda says her 5 minutes. This means there are 20 minutes left. 20 friggin minutes. What? This is like setting the clocks ahead on purpose Christmas Eve just to tell the kids in the morning that it really isn't 7:00 AM , it's only 6:40 and they still have to wait. Brutal. Told you they lie.

Mercifully, the ordeal draws to a close and I am shuffled off one more time to the examiners. Little more poking and prodding, and then they say I am free to go.

What they don't tell you is that upon the first exam, before the cleaning, they may have disqualified me as a candidate and I may have endured the subsequent pain for nothing. How nice of them.

We won't know how Elizabeth fared until a month or so, but I can tell you this, if she failed, my buddy DJ hasn't been to a dentist in like three years and his work phone is 978-555-4105.

Mark Sawyer