Vigilante Justine

“The act of rebellion expresses a nostalgia for innocence and an appeal to the essence of being.” ~Albert Camus

I had a dental appointment today. Although I am very lucky as far as teeth go (only one cavity in nearly 44 years), I loathe going to the dentist. I do it because I never, ever want to soak my teeth in a glass at night. Two weeks ago, my very well-intentioned dentist sent me a reminder post card. The appointment has been in my iPhone since I made it six months ago, but the post card was a little heads up to start flossing every day. Good reminder. Two weeks is adequate time to get my teeth back in flossing condition.

Then, a week ago on both my home phone and my cell phone I received reminder messages, requesting that I call the dental office to confirm my appointment. I thought that was a bit excessive given the fact that 1) they’d just sent me a post card and 2) I’ve never missed an appointment or even arrived late for that matter. These pleasant reminders were becoming a bit intrusive. Feeling a bit rebellious, I decided not to return their calls. Ha! I’ll show you.

Then, four days ago, I got a reminder text on my iPhone asking me to confirm the appointment. Oh. Okay. Fine. I’ll do it. Get off my back already! So, I texted the required “C” response to them, happy to be finished with all the reminders. Or so I thought. Today, just one hour before the appointment, I got another appointment reminder. Seriously?

I was annoyed and I had to be at their office in one hour. My brain was spinning trying to think of possible revenge scenarios. Should I be late just to be as much of a pain in the butt as they were being? My responsible, just-and-fair self took over. No. It’s not fair to punish my hygienist just because the office is a bit OCD about reminders. I would feel bad if Candi was late to or missed her lunch hour because of my well-timed, silent hissy fit. (Yes. My hygienist is named Candi. How’s that for dental office irony?)

I drove to the appointment with my perfectly clean teeth courtesy of my Sonicare and one unit of threader floss. The entire way I was scheming. There had to be something I could do without actually having to confront anyone. (I’m conflict averse, you see.) I got to the office, parked, and went in to fill out my update sheet. That’s when it occurred to me. I should simply take my cell number off their information sheet. That way at least I’d be sure to get only one postcard and one phone call in six months. But, that was so adult. So mature. So boring. Instead, in my own little act of retaliation, I crossed out my cell phone number and made an amendment. I gave them a new cell phone number. I have no idea who it belongs to or if it’s even a working number. All I know is it’s not mine. Childish, yes. But, I feel so much better now. And, in six months when they start calling and texting me about my appointment, I will not be annoyed (although someone else might be a bit confused).

It’s funny how sometimes one little act of rebellion can make you feel powerful. Okay. Okay. So handing out a false number doesn’t actually make me a rebel. Heaven knows I’ve done it before. But, today I incorporated a bit of mischief into my otherwise calm, orderly, and vanilla suburban existence. Wonder where this could lead? If your trash can lid goes missing or you find the tree in your front yard covered with toilet paper, however, don’t look at me. I’m a responsible adult with impeccable decorum and a nearly flawless Cheshire cat grin.