The Manny Diaries, Part Three: Evil Dentists

Manny had been gone for almost seven weeks. We'd spoken to him a couple of times and he sounded just terrible. Mumbling and slurring, he told us that he had "the flu" and that I had really fouled up everything by using his real name.

"You never use that name!" he said, sotto voce.

"Of course, of course," I apologized. "I'll be sure to use your fake name from here on out."

He told us that the place in which he was living was a particular type of hell. He had rented a 6 x 10 room in his friend's apartment and she kept the heat at 90 degrees. He boiled his dinner on the radiator. His landlady forbade him from walking about the apartment in his underwear and so he'd had to purchase a pair of pajamas, which was irritating to him. His landlady also didn't allow him to cook (his one true passion!) and so he was spending bundles of money on takeout meals. He was really sad.

So when he called not long thereafter, sounding sober and cheerful, we were pleased. He announced that he was headed back home, to us, but only briefly. He needed to stop in and fiddle with his possessions. Then he was off to California for a week.

He showed up. He'd gotten a haircut! He looked like a changed man. He launched into cooking with a new fervor. He was overjoyed to see the boys.

"So why are you off to California?" I asked.

"I need to see this dentist," he said. "This criminal dentist who needs to fix my tooth. He's a criminal! He's a Mexican! He's a criminal!"

Manny had visited a crooked dentist while he still lived in CA, and when he woke up from the ether with an aching jaw it was revealed that the dentist had pulled the wrong tooth. The dentist had pulled a perfectly healthy tooth and left the rotten one sitting there.

Evil Dentist Quiz! Which one is the rotten tooth?

"That's like cutting off the wrong leg!" I said. "Do you really want to go back to this man?"

Without tooth insurance, returning to Dr. Nasty-Pliers was the most affordable option. Because the man had pulled the wrong tooth, he'd make good by charging Manny only, say, $350 for pulling the correct tooth. And maybe a bunch more for the implant and a new tooth. So it was cheaper to fly to CA then to see a reliable dentist here in NY.

But Manny was all in a sweat and a dither about the dentist. He couldn't stop talking about him. Every time I came down for a glass of water he'd spring out, perseverating about the "evil dentist," who would surely devise something painful and criminal while he was under the gas.

"Dentists can cause people pain...on purpose!" he said. "Why, this man might do me real harm! Miss Jennifer! Miss Jennifer, do you hear what I am saying? This could be very bad. He might try to kill me."

"Don't go to him!" I counseled. "It's not worth the money saved. He sounds like a terrible man and a worse dentist. I know a nice dentist right here who could help you."

But his ticket was purchased and the hotel booked; no turning back. He asked me to show him how to record a voice memo on his iPhone so he could go into the dentist's office "wired" and record the evil criminal while he (Manny) was out cold. I squawked, "Testing, testing, I am an evil shady dentist!" into his phone and demonstrated how he might stuff it inside his shirt when inside the man's office. I'm sure this was ill-advised and would have gotten him whacked if discovered but I was trying to be helpful.

Then he packed a bag and headed out. He was planning to stay in NYC for the night and would board the plane the next day.

He never made that plane flight.

The Evil Dentist

This is a cautionary tale for those of you who are looking for a good dentist in the New Rochelle area.

When my little boys needed their first dental visit, I got a few names from Met Life and scheduled an appointment for both of them with Dr. Nolan Krinick of New Rochelle. He was close and convenient, and claimed to be a pediatric dentist.

We arrived and noticed that the office stank of cigar smoke. This was a bad sign, but maybe Dr. Krinick's fellow tenant in the building was responsible? There were also no child-friendly items in the waiting room, but maybe Dr. Krinick was just all about teeth and no frills. The place was kind of dingy, too, and the receptionist was a crummy-looking old bird.

The boys were clearly terrified but we told them it was OK, the dentist was just going to look at their teeth. Dentists are nice guys! When he came in, he looked annoyed to see children in his office. In fact, hatred and disdain for children dripped from the man's countenance. If he had snarled and a a bead of saliva had dripped from one unnaturally-sharpened fang, I would not have been surprised.

He glared at them impatiently and barked out: "Who's first?" We tried the older boy in the chair first, but he was so struck with terror that we decided to put the little one in the chair instead. The dentist tried without avail to open the boy's mouth, and then turned to us with a gesture of complete impatience. "I can't conduct the exam if he won't cooperate!" he muttered. "Open the kid's mouth!"

How? "Hang him upside down," said Doctor Krinick. "That gets them to open their mouths."

Invoking a spirit of fun sort of thing, we actually tried--for about two seconds. (How horrid to admit.) Our little boy screamed, his mouth opened, and the dentist peeked inside. He muttered that the frenum--a little flap of skin/muscle--between our boy's upper gum and upper lip needed to be clipped or he'd have hideous dental problems later. "I'll do it right now, if you want," he said. He practically chortled.

No, thanks. We fled his horrible office, reciting things to the boys such as "Not all people are bad." We later found a nice dentist, Doctor Allen Greenberg, who remarked that the "clipping of the frenum" comment was a load of horseshit. "Whoever said that is an idiot," he added.

Now, whenever we drive past Krinick's office, the boys make evil noises. "Not all dentists are bad!" my boys chirp from the back. "But some dentists are very bad!"

Postscript 1: A while back, we decided to go and view a house in New Rochelle. We arrived and noticed that the house stank of cigar smoke. While touring the place (which was dreadful), my husband rounded a corner and came upon the owner...who else but...Doctor Nolan Krinick!

Postscript 2: A while back my boys were playing doctor, which always involves making calls on a telephone.

Younger: Who is this?
Elder: The doctor!
Younger: Can you fix my tummy pain?
Elder: Oh no, I can't do that.
Mommy: I thought you were a doctor.
Elder: Actually, I am an evil dentist. I am Doctor Krinick!