A Quick One...

While I'm Away

I have a certain amount of—not just economic anxiety (gestures broadly)—but a personal financial anxiety as the surgery on my teeth was very costly.

Peter is in debt to Paul; Paul’s passing around the rubber twenty. Some freelance contracts have ended. The carrot is seemingly dangling by the proverbial stick these days. Always out of reach like Bluto’s big fat hand on Wimpy’s head as he swings away at the red-shirted brute. Are we headed into a Depression? A Recession? A Bubble? I definitely can’t afford a BBL in this economy!

Last night, while recording LeaguePodcast with

Dursin

and The Elder (Check out our special edition LeaguePodcast LITERALLY wherever you get your podcasts! Even here on Substack), I made a fateful mistake. I reached my grubby little hand into a Family Size! bag of Snyder Minis. Can’t record a podcast about The Sting on an empty stomach, bunco! On our new Riverside account (RIP Skype, you piece of shit!), I tapped the mic on mute to crunch away during the pre-show banter.

“SNAP!”

I’m learning how to letter some comics, so I could practically see a dot-pitched filled bubble emanating from my mouth with zippy action lines. “What… the fuck"?

That salted and diminutive pretzel just … (ellipsis for effect, also from the comics lettering) ruined my life. Do I look like I can afford ANOTHER one of these top dental implants? I’m fucking practically on the dole over here.

I unmuted and excused myself for another minute. Holding two plastic ‘teeth’ in my hand, I went to the living room. Stacey was napping before her rehearsal night, and I declared, “I have some…bad news," and showed her what had happened.

"Gonna have to call them tomorrow, I guess!"

I returned to our regularly scheduled Pod and don’t recall if I told them what happened. Probably not! I did admit that I just skyrocketed to a 90% on the Depression scale. After a few hometown jokes and goodwill, they got me down to 10%. That 10% buffer on either end is like—no one can be TOO happy—and being TOO depressed puts you six feet underground. Similarly, we’ll rarely give a movie an A+ rating because, well, is anything that good? Does anything deserve an F? Maybe Section 31.

We did our thing, and I wasn’t in pain, just staring at those two fake teeth on my desk, with one broken plastic edge instead of my usual cavities but (more comic sound effects) dollar signs spewing out like O’So’Many’Clovers from a leprechaun’s Pot’O’Gold.

Eventually, I made dinner for us, a lovely soft cheeseburger, soft-ish frozen fries, soft microwaved frozen broccoli (hey, I was on a time crunch) and a salad for shee (not for thee, obviously).

We sat down to watch the highly anticipated return of the proper Daredevil: Born Again series to Disney+ after concluding a successful run on Netflix, October 19, 2018 (we’re not counting She-Hulk).

I took my first bite. My test was a chlorophilic bud of broccoli, stiff at the stem, and fluffy at the head, like Jonah Hill in Wolf of Wall Street. Can I EAT? Am I entirely fucked AND hungry forever now?

That little green bastard entered the wrong spot seconds after entering my mouth. Struck a nerve. Made everything shift around in there.

I start to weep. Charlie Cox beating up on Bullseye couldn’t even pull me from the darkness.

"I… can’t… EAT!" I grumbled, removing my glasses and bringing the picnic cotton napkin to my tear ducts.

Weeping. For just a second. Not a real cry, but an actual weep. This is the end, I thought. A catastrophic event. This is why there are crisis hotlines (for now)!

My long-suffering partner knows what to do, which is nothing. Not that she wasn’t concerned—she’s seen me weep on the couch before. She was ready with some tea and sympathy, but didn’t just dump it in my lap. “This could go either way” I imagine her thinking, “let me wait this one out”. I believe that giving people space is the key to good relationships.

The weeping subsided, and quickly. I tried to watch Wilson Fisk run for Mayor in New York City as I ate my version of the Matty Matheson burger. That recipe is perfection.

I took it slow, cut everything up as small as I could, and with a stiff upper lip, soldiered on. That first bite was a canary in a coalmine, and was the only unpleasant one. I finished my dinner and fell asleep on the couch from the emotional rollercoaster I just went on.

Because I knew that today I would have to wake up at 9 a.m. to call the dentist, await my fate and the receipts of checks my freshly broken teeth cannae cash. This has certainly has been a long, cold, lonely winter.

I could barely sleep so I was up as early as 5 a.m.

How am I going to explain to my dentist that I screwed the pooch? I really did it this time! All that good work they did? RUINED! RUINED!

“What an asshole. A mini pretzel? What were you thinking? Hello, Hello, Anybody Home, McFly?”

Getting a Dentist Biff noogie was one of the more pleasant nightmares I had last night … another was in a hot air balloon but we landed on a roof and couldn’t get down? Anyway…

The Nine O’Clock hour finally came. Stacey had made some proper (well half-caff) coffee and I had already been working for a bit, so I returned to bed with my CPAP for a few minutes. An early morning nap? Is that a thing?

Then, I made the fateful call. I imagined at least being at the dentist for most of the day.

But…that was not the case. My dentist injured himself (likely not on a pretzel) and won’t be in until next week.

It started much like the emotional labor I spewed last night.

“I have some bad news," I explained. Maybe this time I said, “I have some distressing news". Tooth Broken. Me Bad. SHAME! SHAME!

My "Patient Advocate" (for lack of a better word) at the office told me over the phone, "Oh, you're doing great." Then they added, "Those lasted longer than usual. The plates are designed to break to protect the screw implants. You're almost a month away from the more permanent ones."

They paused, then continued, "If you can come by on Monday, we'll 3D print you some new ones."

And then, as if it were a mere footnote to the conversation:

"…and those are under warranty."

What? I’m basically rocking the equivalent of what people pay for a decent car in my mouth. And now, I’m glad I went for the sunroof and the ceramic coating.

That I now feel at ease doesn’t even BEGIN to cover it.

Is everything great now? No. Do I feel better by confronting the unknown? Absolutely. Is my Patient Advocate one of my favorite people in the world? Ferrr Surrre.

Is there a lesson? No. But let me tell you what I had for lunch. I had a 40% off any one item at CVS loaded on to my card and it was a conscious decision to cash that baby in on a Cup of Ramen Noodles and two Ghiradelli Chocolate squares and only spend $2.01 on a soft lunch. If that’s not a metaphor, I don’t know what is.

(Yes, I am acutely aware that chocolate got me into this situation in the first place).