I have an exam in a couple days and should be studying, so I thought this would be an ideal time to post another tale. But first, a little aside.Since my last posting, I have turned thirty (and have minimal plans of growing up soon); been offered a career (which I have accepted); Scott & Nicki had a beautiful baby girl, Sophie Nicole; Jonesy has topped out on Mount Kilimanjaro; Aaen was taken clothes shopping; and I am now approximately 12 days from my last exam at UNB....ever. And I got kinda hammered. A few times. I'm sorry if my legions of fans have gotten a little impatient waiting for another story of mis-adventure, but I do actually have a life outside of this BS. So bite me.
In recognition my new career, which will take me back to the far reaches of Labrador, I decided to lend a little insight to life there. In particular, a story of cultures and languages.
Last June, I embarked on a journey to find some uranium. Shortly after arriving in the town of Postville, NL (population: 220), a chunk of my bottom wisdom tooth broke off. I was mildly surprised at this, but, as there was no immediate pain involved, I didn't think too much of it and just planned to have it looked at on my first roll-out six weeks away.
A couple weeks pass and my tooth begins to hurt a little bit, first with sweet foods, then with hot & cold beverages, then with chewing in general. I just attempt to adjust my eating habits accordingly & try rinsing and brushing more frequently. I just didn't want this causing any wrinkles in the project plan. You see, I was treating this contract like a very, very long job interview and really wanted to prove my worth to this company because I wanted a job when I was done school. I just tried to tough it out.
Bad idea. The gums get infected, leading to a sinus infection, which in turn leads to me not being able to lay down to sleep. I go 11 nights without sleeping, taking upwards of 25 regular strength Tylenol to attempt to get through the days. There are no doctors & dentists in Postville. And the sale of alcohol is prohibited. Yes, you read that correctly. Prohibited.
Eventually the logistics manager tells me that they can't have me hopping in and out of a helicopter everyday with no sleep. This was more of a liability issue on their part more than a "I was in extreme goddamned agony" issue. There was a chartered plane coming in to Postville to take the Pres & VP of the company, some rock samples, and me to Happy Valley-Goose Bay. Judy, our admin. person from Postville, made me an appointment for 3:30 PM at a dentist's office there.
Now if there is ever a place that has a more misleading name than Happy Valley-Goose Bay, please let me know. It's not that friggin' happy there, and I didn't see any geese. In fact, if Canada was going to receive an enema, I'm quite sure it would be inserted in Happy Valley-Goose Bay. I don't really like it there, and would dislike it more before the day was done.
After a few hours of errands, I walked into the dentist's office at 3:25PM. The dentist was at the reception desk doing paper work. He was Indian (the kind from India) and briefly thought to myself that, if I thought there was a little culture shock for me in Labrador, this guy must've had a hell of a surprise when he arrived in town.
I introduce myself as the 3:30 appointment, Trevors. He replied to me, in a very thick Indian accent, that the office was closed. I tell him that there must be some mistake, our admin. person confirmed my appointment for 3:30. He denies this, and states that there is no way his receptionist/wife would make an appointment for 3:30 on a Saturday.
Then it dawns on me: what happens when you have someone who barely speaks English with a thick Indian accent trying to speak English to someone who speaks English with a thick Labradorian accent? I'll tell you what happens.
What happens is that Dr. Death gets me to assist on my own wisdom tooth extraction, as his dental assistants are gone for the day. And he doesn't give me barely any anaesthetic, saying he needs me "to be aware" of what is happening. And he's pissed off because he's late for his family dinner. And he reefs on my tooth for 45 minutes. And when he's done, he's in a hurry and "forgets" to prescribe me any painkillers....or wipe off all the blood on my face and neck.
Funny thing is, I drove around doing errands for three hours, not realizing I had blood all over my face, and not a single solitary soul I spoke with in Happy Valley-Goose Bay found this at all alarming.
Happy my ass......
