The Dental Records crowd….

They reckon all good writers have problems with their teeth. That’s about the only positive thing I could take from the terrible pain. Then the dentist said: ‘You’ve given me a false name, are you tryin to pull somethin?’
I said: ‘No, it’s genuine, my mouth’s about to explode with some kinda toothache.’
‘That’s what I mean.’ He said. ‘Your records show you’ve no teeth at all.’
‘No teeth?’
‘No teeth.’
‘But I have teeth, why the hell do you think I’m here?!’
‘Well. Now. That’s what they’re sayin.’
‘Who’s sayin?’
‘The dental records crowd.’
The receptionist walked in and said: ‘Well, Gerry, how are you?’
‘It’s not Gerry, it’s Mick.’
‘Oh, Mick, that’s right. You lost all your teeth.’
‘I didn’t, no. Most of them are still here.’
‘Oh.’ She said, and walked out.
‘Well…’ said the dentist. ‘You better ring them. I can’t do anythin with you til it’s sorted out.’
He gave me the number and I went outside. And called. A calm woman answered and I said: ‘My records show I’ve got no teeth.’
‘Oh. Sorry to hear that.’
‘But I have teeth, there’s a mix up.’
‘That’s impossible, you have teeth but…?’
‘My records show that I don’t.’
‘What happened them?’
‘What happened what?’
‘Your teeth?’
‘Nothin, they’re fine. Well…I have a…’
‘So you HAVE teeth?’
‘YES.’
‘And your records show you DON’T?’
‘Yeah, so can you change them?’
‘The records? Oh No.’
‘Why not?’
‘They’re dental records, they’re inviolable.’
‘But they’re wrong!’
‘That may be, but here’s not the place to deal with that.’
‘Where is?! You’re the office of dental records!’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘How can you not know?’
‘You should go to the hospital where you were born, and see what they have on file.’
Hung up. Went to the hospital. The woman behind the counter squinted at my mouth and asked: ‘You have no teeth? But I can see teeth, your mouth is full of teeth.’
‘Exactly. So my records are wrong.’
‘Have you rang the dental records office?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And what did they tell you?’
‘To come here.’
‘Why?!’
‘I don’t know. They just said…’
‘Here, try this number.’
Went outside and tried it. A young fella answered with: ‘Yes??’
He was one of these new age pricks with a Kardashian accent. Probably hailed from the backarse of BallyMacWard, except when he was on the phone.  I said: ‘I need to change my dental records.’
‘Oh….k….? Why?’
‘They say I have no teeth.’
‘Were you in an accident?’
‘No.’
‘Did they just fall out?’
‘No. I still have them, my records are wrong, and the dentist can’t deal with me til it’s sorted. So if you don’t mind…’
‘Oh, you’re pretending to be someone else?’
‘No I’m not.’
‘Someone else is pretending to be you, then?’
‘Eh…possibly.’
‘Have you rang the guards?’
‘No, I haven’t rang the guards, I’m in agonizin fuckin pain and…
‘Let me tell you somethin, sir.’
‘What?’
And he hung up. The little bollox.

I rang back the dentist and the receptionist answered. I said: ‘Hello, I was in this afternoon, there was an issue with my dental records.’
‘Oh, LIAM, hello! How are you getting on?’
‘It’s not Liam, it’s Mick.’
‘Mick, of course. Any luck finding your teeth?’
‘No, the dental office were no good, or anyone else.’
‘Oh, you see, no one is allowed access to their own dental records except the dentist, and they can deal with it for you, they can be very strict about it, do you want me to tell the dentist to ring them for you? That might help.’
‘If you wouldn’t mind, that’d be great.’
‘Ok, Peter, it’s no problem.’
‘It’s not Peter, it’s….hello? Hello?’
But she was gone.

*

 

The Lost Post #28

 

‘Hey, Mick. Did you get the post?’

‘What post?’

‘The post we sent you.’

‘I didn’t get any post from you.’

‘But we sent it.’

‘I didn’t get it, though.’

‘Oh.’

‘Hmm….’

‘Is this your address?’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘No. That’s my old address.’

‘And you didn’t update it on the system?’

‘I did. Last year.’

‘I see. Ok, let me send it to the new address.’

‘Cool.’

 

Week later. ‘Hey, Mick. Did you get the post?’

‘No, not yet.’

‘Did you check your Postbox?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And it didn’t arrive?’

‘No. Not yet.’

‘We sent it last week. It should be there by now.’

‘I know, mad.’

‘We sent it to this address.’

‘Yeah. See. That’s my old address.’

‘And you didn’t update it on the system?’

‘I did. Last week.’

‘Oh, ok. Let me sort this out and get back to you.’

Then the tenants at my old address called me and said: ‘Mick, there’s a load of post here for you.’

‘Ok, I’ll come and get it.’

Week later, the phone rang. ‘Hey, Mick. Did you get the post?’

‘I did.’

‘Oh great. It arrived?’

‘No.’

‘Sorry?’

‘I got it from the tenants at my old address.’

‘What?! But that’s fraud.’

‘It’s my post.’

‘You don’t live there.’

‘It was addressed to me.’

‘You can’t be taking post from people’s postboxes.’

‘It’s mine and I used to live there.’

‘Well you’ll have to sent that back to us. That’s our property.’

‘Were you not trying to send it to me in the first place?’

‘We were. We are. Did you not get it this week?’

‘No. But sure I have it here now. Two copies of it.’

‘Yes, but that’s ours. We need you to send that back.’

‘Why?’

‘GDPR.’

‘It’s my data.’

‘But you could sue us.’

‘For getting my own post?’

‘Or we could sue you for taking our post. Or the Tenants of the last place could sue you for taking their post.’

‘They gave it to me.’

‘The Postbox is a separate legal entity.’

‘So the Postbox could sue us all?’

‘The Postal System could.’

‘So what now?’

‘Send us back that post immediately.’

‘And what then?’

‘We’ll post it back to you.’

‘Ok, but I’ve opened it now and everything?’

‘You what? You opened somebody else’s post?’

‘It was addressed to me. It’s mine.’

‘Ok, I’m going to consult our legal team on this and get back to you.’

‘Legal team?’

‘Yes. We need advice on this. Where’s the post now?’

‘On my kitchen table.’

‘Has anybody else seen it?’

‘I don’t think so. Maybe.’

‘Ok, we’re sending somebody down to pick it up. Don’t touch it again and don’t let anybody else see it.’

‘Ok.’

‘Ok. This is bad. This is really bad. Honestly, what were you thinking?’

 

**