Life As Performance Art 126

Yesterday I got a tooth pulled. Not so horrible as one would think or imagine. And not terribly expensive, though in this Great Land of Ours one would think that they would find some way of covering basic dental care procedures, at least for low-wage earners and other poor folk. I did have a long wait, but it turns out that there was a miscommunication on the phone and the receptionist wanted me to come in early to fill out some paperwork, but I thought the earlier time was for my appointment itself. I did speak quite a lot of Spanish there, to my surprise. There was a woman, from Colombia, who lives in my apartment building downtown, well away from Commercial Drive where the clinic is located. She was there for a women's group upstairs, so we had a chat in Spanish in the waiting area, since her English is almost nil. It also turned out that the dental assistant was Colombian, and when I found out after the procedure, we exchanged a bit of conversation in Spanish. I think that I was the only white male in the clinic. A lot of Spanish-speaking immigrants are served at the Reach Clinic. As well as people of other ethnicities, but generally speaking, we are all on low incomes. Now, it is not expected that a white male would need discounted dental treatment, because White Privilege is magical, and automatically guarantees that everyone born male and white is going to live in absolute luxury and privilege for all of our long lives. So, people like me, a poor white male, are not allowed to exist. There must be something very wrong with us if we are not well off and rolling im privilege. My dentist had an Armenian sounding name, so she could be called Middle Eastern. I found her treatment a bit officious and lacking in warmth or care, and I wonder if that could be because I am a white male, but there is no such thing as discrimination against white males, or so we are told by the politically correct thought police. It might also be because it was late afternoon, already, near the end of her work day, and she might have been tired, and who only knows what other kinds of patients she had to deal with that day. So, I decided to be as cooperative, and kind, as possible. I don't think it really worked, but that's okay. It wasn't that expensive, considering, though for someone like me, it is still a lot of money. Around 185 dollars, a bit less perhaps, and I was told my other teeth were okay, so I don't have to worry about ongoing treatment, root canals and crowns that would set me back several thousand dollars. Which helps me relax a little. No swelling, just a little bit sore, and I will be eating with a lot of extra care for the next few days. Commercial Drive is always interesting, being Vancouver's bohemian strip. I lived there, cumulatively for around ten years, three different times between the early eighties and the early 2000's. Being a hot afternoon, and being fresh from the dentist's chair and still rather stoned on anesthetic, I wanted to walk on the shady side of the street, where I encountered an idiot whistling very loudly while playing a ukelele from where he was seated on the pavement. He is a white male by the way, and likely poor, like a lot of panhandlers and people sleeping on the sidewalk. Far too many indigenous people as well. But you never see Asians on the pavement. They are usually really well-connected with their families and communities, and they simply do not end up on the street. I hate whistling, it really drives me nuts, so I plugged my ears as I walked by him. Somehow, the whistling and ukulele plunk-plunk-plunk was getting louder, and this annoying little busker decided to follow me and torment me, so I told him to fuck off, and I crossed the street to get away from him. I also gave him half a peace sign. You may guess which half, Gentle Reader.