Were Hollywood to film our two dental practices as their hottest new reality show, it would undoubtedly be entitled “Daughters of Anarchy”. Envision The Shootout at the OK Corral, starring estrogen-soaked ladies with access to loaded weapons…wide open and lawless. Don’t misunderstand, both of my docs are highly skilled and respected by their fiercely loyal patients. It’s the staff who bear the shrapnel scars of gross mismanagement.
Our issues stem from the fact that the owner refuses to use titles for his administrative staff, which leaves us adrift with no management or structure. The three of us dental practice administrators have over 62 years experience between us, yet are not allowed to manage a single aspect of these practices. Dr. Lymp Biskit, our employer, is a total control freak who micromanages every appointment slot and patient communication. He even refuses to order post-it notes in pretty colors because it might provide us a modicum of joy.
This is but a prelude to explain how Grumpy Cat and Prom Queen were allowed to be birthed into existence. Grumpy Cat and The Prom Queen are both Registered Dental Hygienists who share open-bay operatories side by side. Most of their downtime at work is spent plotting to kill the other, much like the old Tom and Jerry cartoons.
Grumpy Cat is consistently early to work and faithfully sets up Prom Queen’s room, while Prom Queen arrives 30 seconds before her first patient is due, redolent of cheap perfume and good intentions. GC makes sure her patient is never left alone while waiting for a doctor check, and makes certain every detail of her day is in order. PQ abandons her patients for long periods of time so she can sit in the kitchen, in full view of the doctors, and catch up on her texting.
These two loathe each other so much, they prefer to pay outside dental offices to clean their teeth, rather than cleaning one another’s. Imagine lying back, defenseless, while your sworn enemy wields floss and an explorer.
I’m not implying Grumpy Cat doesn’t have her reasons to be pissed at the hand she has been dealt, heavens no. She has a disabled husband who will only ingest meat, potatoes, and pizza. As a Foodie, that is indeed a bitter pill to swallow. They are a single-income household due to his infirmities, so Grumpy Cat can’t even purchase amusement and distractions. But is that any reason to come in cranky every morning? Course, if I sported that do atop my shoulders…In addition to the Miley Cyrus haircut abortion she proudly dons CROCS! And those of you who read Bobby Barrettes know only too well that CROCS are the government’s attempt to stop procreation in its tracks.
Grumpy Cat’s demeanor is a perfect match to her strident, bellowing Chicago accent, which cuts like a rabid boomerang through our tiny office. A simple “Good morning” aimed in her direction earns you a snarl and a suspicious, “What’s so f…ing good about it?” She is a resplendent vision in her grey hair, ashen skin, and steel grey scrubs.
The Prom Queen WOULD be beautiful, with her thick mane of blond hair and perfect features sitting atop a perfect 29-year-old body, honed by excessive hours of Cross Fit. WOULD be…were it not for the “I is stoopid” tattoo inked across her high forehead. Each sentence uttered is littered with many “like…like” and “ya knows?” A Valley Girl’s English couldn’t top this chirping little cricket.
Her topics of conversation only number two. How soon will Grumpy Cat die and is there any way she can hasten her demise? And why are the only men interested in her the Gym Rats with heads the size of watermelons? She remains perplexed about why they never call her after having sex on the first date.
Were any of the three managers actually allowed to manage, GC would be given a reprimand and a write-up and PQ would be snipping locks at Great Clips. When the long-anticipated homicide finally does occur, the only mystery will be who shot who first.