Copyright 2015 Jesse Gersten | All Rights Reserved.

Handcuffs and a Ball-Gag

I was getting more aggravated by the second. My appointment was for 7:15, and here it was almost 2 hours later with the only work done being a couple of quick x-rays. I was supposed to be getting a crown, in what would have been the last step in the root canal I had to get after chipping my tooth on a wasabi roasted green pea. Yes, even my injuries are surreal. The dentist seemed incredibly busy dealing anything you could possibly think of that didn’t relate to my teeth. She finally decided to grace me with her presence, only to let me know that she screwed up and drilled a post into my bone. It turns out that the post was, in fact, not supposed to go into my bone. She was sweet enough to inform me that my best option would be to have the tooth extracted and get an implant. She also said that the cost of the root canal would go towards the implant. I thought that was really thoughtful of her. She went on to try to make it seem like it was somehow my fault. At one point, she said that implants are a last resort because you should “Keep what god gave you. That’s what they say”. Very interesting. Reminds me of another saying, “Don’t drill posts in my f@cking bone!”

After leaving the dentist I drove directly to work. I pulled onto an entrance ramp, where I thought there were 2 lanes. Next to me was an 18-wheeler, which started to turn. Normally my catlike reflexes would have sprung into action, and I would have taken effective evasive maneuvers, but my mind was on my horrific dental visit, with the truck creeping ever so closer to my tiny little car. The truck took my driver’s side mirror off and made a sound that I would prefer not be repeated during this lifetime. The horrid grinding stopped and the driver got out and asked if we should call the cops. There was no damage on the truck, as the accident was akin to an elephant ramming into a guinea pig, a furry little Japanese guinea pig, as I was driving a Toyota. My car ended up with moderate body damage, including the aforementioned mirror. We both pulled onto the side of the road, and he ran to a pay phone to call his trucking company. He soon returned and told me that he had to call the cops. No big deal. The cop soon showed up and told us to drive to the next parking lot. The female officer was so incredibly butch that I’m surprised she didn’t just pin a badge to her lacrosse jersey. She was all jokey-jokey with the truck driver, leading me to believe that she’s been in bar fights on both sides of the law. This wasn’t looking good.

After a few minutes she let me know that my license had expired. I told her that it must be a mistake, because I had no outstanding tickets. She replied that it was not a mistake, and that I couldn’t drive, and had 2 choices: I could have a friend pick up the car, or she could have my car towed. I thought long and hard before deciding on the option that didn’t end with my car being towed. She told me to wait because she had to write my violation, and that I was lucky that I wasn’t being arrested. She also informed me that if she caught me driving the car, she wouldn’t be so nice, and that she would take me deep in the woods, stifle my movement and screams with handcuffs and a ball-gag, and beat me unmercifully with her penis until my body was bruised beyond recognition, I could only see out of one eye, and I started slipping in and out of consciousness.

I walked to work and called Motor Vehicles to see what the problem was with my license. While on hold, I had a friend go pick up my car and bring it to me at work. When she got there, the cop and another state trooper were waiting, obviously hoping I would return so she could use her ball-gag. She got in and drove off without any problems. After being put on hold for an hour, I found out that the problem was over a ticket I got 6 years ago in Maine. This particular ticket was for going 32 in a 25 and was given to me by a cop driving in the opposite direction while somehow clocking me. Surely it had nothing to do with my out-of-state plates. I ended up missing a friend’s wedding because of this, but I paid the ticket off and thought everything was taken care of. It turns out they failed to tell me that I needed to notify Mass and pay a $100 reinstatement fee. So, 5 years later, last April, they decided to revoke my license without letting me know about any of this. I paid the $100 over the phone and called the police department to retrieve my license, since it was taken only an hour earlier, and this was obviously a mix-up. They called the officer who had them tell me that I needed to get another license. Amazing. And I still need to go to court. Sweet.

My only consolation was that I soon would be eating a big basket of fried seafood at the Hilltop Steakhouse.

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