Yesterday turned out to be personal grooming day. Dental check up and a hair cut. (But not at the same time.)

It was the dentist appointment that ended up causing problems. The dental hygenist who I had seen previously–and who I really liked–was gone. Hopefully she got another job or moved on to go to dental school or something good.

So I got a new technician, fresh out of school. Which didn’t bother me too much, since everyone has to start somewhere. What bothered me was the fact that the cleaning hurt. And my teeth and gums hurt for the rest of the day. (In fact, I think I have one or two bruises.)

The strange thing is that even thinking about calling the office to say something about the problem made me incredibly uncomfortable. I even briefly considered trying to find a new dentist rather than letting this hygenist near my mouth again. Which is stupid. I’m fine with the dentists at the office, but having to call to (essentially) complain about an employee seemed like an unreasonable thing to do. Even though my mouth hurt so much I didn’t care to eat anything but soup for lunch.

Because I didn’t want to be one of those whiny people that complain all the time. Because part of me felt that it must be my problem, not theirs. Why do I do this? Why does the thought of making a complaint when I am fully justified to do so make me so uncomfortable?

In the end I did call the office and requested that my next appointment be with a different hygenist. I explained that my mouth really hurt, and I really would prefer not to see that hygenist again. The receptionist was, of course, perfectly nice about the whole thing. And part of me knows that the only way the hygenist will get better is if people let her know she’s doing something wrong.

But another part of me still feels like I was being mean or cruel in making a complaint. Probably the part that remembers what it was like not to be able to find a job, and the fear I felt when I finally found a real job, that I’d do something stupid and get fired.