With a smile

I wanted to buy an iPod. I’d been planning to get one for the last couple of years but I’d been putting it off due to many reasons: my mobile phone plays music, my computer has great speakers, I have an old but still reliable Discman, i have a mini-component at home, etc. Last Monday I decided I will really buy myself an iPod. Kind of like a present to myself since I didn’t get anything for myself last Christmas.

The iPod I had in mind is the 80GB Classic. In black, which is the same colour as my next MacBook (which I plan to get later this year, replacing my old iBook). I went to 3 shops here in Phnom Penh who claimed they were official resellers and scouted their prices. One store had the lowest price (about $20 less than the other 2) but the staff had tremendously poor English language skills and other than showing me the price in their calculator, they couldn’t tell me anything else. After four years, my Khmer is still rusty, I must admit. I left the store because I had another appointment.

When I came back on Tuesday I was able to speak with the owner of the shop, and I learned that their latest shipment of black, 80GB iPod classic (and other products, I assume) has yet to be released by the customs. He told me that he expected it to be released the next day. He took my number and told me he’d ring me when he’s got the product. I left the shop happy.

That afternoon, while I was sharing a soft and chewy (because it was kept at room temperature) bar of white chocolate at a friend’s house, I felt something loosen in my mouth and mingled with the chocolate. The fixed bridge anchored to my upper left molar got dislodged! Checking it in the toilet, I pulled it out of my mouth and stared at it. The ceramic coating was worn; there was even a hole on the metal underneath.

This was made in early 2005, by our family dentist, who is actually the son of our original family dentist. Along with the dental clinic, he inherited his father’s clients as well. A year later my mother discovered a new dentist and we started coming to her. When I went to her for my annual dental check-up last December 2006, I complained to her that food particles got inside my fixed bridge. I knew that it wasn’t supposed to happen. When new dentist checked it, she noted that the style used to make my fixed bridge wasn’t used anymore, short of saying that our former dentist did a banged-up job. I was dismayed.

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