The Dentist Visit From Hell

I was assaulted by my dentist,

In the middle of nowhere Mexico, my filling breaks. With no apparent cause, an upper back molar, which for many years has been an amalgamation of tooth, silver and white composite, cracks and crumbles. A razor-sharp ridge and gaping hole remain. I must visit an unfamiliar dentist in a technologically-primitive town to explain my condition in broken Spanish and bizarre gestures that may not be understood.

The dentist's office is located in the garage of the dentist's house. Though the sign says he opens at 9 AM, it's near 10:30 when he cranks up the retractable door. “Un momento,” he says before disappearing. Thirty minutes later, he returns and points me into his rusty chair, for an examination with old unwashed tools more reminiscent of the carpentry channel than the surgery network.