My shameful secret!

“Oooooo, off anywhere nice?” Came my neighbour’s voice from behind me as I ran up the front path of my house towards the street.

“Just the dentist,” I replied still on the move. Taking into account my destination, the last thing I needed was to stand and chat. While I had the momentum, it was full steam ahead. However, something I’d said had pricked her curiosity.

“Aren’t you with the same practice as me, opposite the church?”

“That’s the one,”

“Oh!” She remarked rather concerned. “Are you sure you have the right day. You should check dear. I think you might have the wrong day.”

“No, its today!”

“Mr Wong doesn’t work on a Wednesday morning?”

“Oh he doesn’t. I don’t see Mr Wong.”

“You don’t?”

“No, Mrs Akhtar.”

“Mrs Akhtar?” She repeated. “Isn’t she the kiddie’s dentist?”

“Errrrrrrrrrm!.......well, technically yes…she is officially the children’s dentist. But I’d like to think she also offers her services to those patients whom may be in need of…of …careful cajoling; being an all inclusive kind of surgery.” I mumbled.

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POINT TO NOTE: How to get Jo Jo in a dentist’s chair.

Option 1 - Darting with a tranquilizer gun.

Problem – It is illegal on humans…and chimpanzees


Option 2 - Psychotherapy or Hypnosis

Problem - Too costly and time consuming. By the time I’m cured, my teeth will have dropped out.


Option 3 - Forcefully hold me down and get on with it.

Problem – Thankfully ever since those no-win-no-fee adverts came on the telly, the modern dentist is quite reluctant to do anything that may turn their patient into a gibbering wreck.


Option 4 - Gentle coaxing by a member of staff whose communication skills have proven successful when dealing with sensitive and fretful 3 year olds.

The method that is currently in use for moi.

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“The children’s dentist?” My neighbour repeated not quite understanding, “I’m surprised she sees you.”

THOUGHT PROCESS AT TIME.
Hmmmm, so am I…considering I’ve hit her twice.

The first time it happened I was just lying there.

Mrs Akhtar always gets me to close my eyes, breath deeply and concentrate on the cd playing on the stereo – Sing along to Noddy (I know that because my cousin Minu Didi’s little one has the same one at home)

Don’t know why, but I opened my eyes. I caught a glimpse of her hand holding the this big fuck off injection which was heading towards my mouth. In a knee jerk reaction, I slapped her arm out the way.

It was barely a tap!

It came as a huge shock to me as well when the rest of her body followed suit; especially as she is, what you would call…sturdy.
Or, as my dad would say (in Punjabi) ‘you can tell she likes to get stuck in the pakoras at family weddings.’

As for the second time, that was a complete accident.

Mrs Akhtar told me she needed to do a root canal…
…I told her there was a greater chance of Hugh Hefner being announced as at the next Pope.

I decided to get up and make a run for it, but couldn’t! The over head light lamp thing had been lowered. It was right in front of me, shining brightly into my eyes.

Then it dawned on me. Those lights weren’t there to help her look into my mouth!
No!
It was designed to trap me and keep me at her mercy.

“Oh my Lord,” I gasped in horror as I stared at her through the blinding flashes of light. It was like I was really seeing her for the first time.

THOUGHT PROCESS AT TIME.
How I’ve never noticed it before?
The similarities between you and Kathy Bates in ‘Misery,’ is uncanny…………Heeeeeeeeeeelp!

Half panic-stricken, half dazed by the light and still determined to make my escape, I pushed the over-head light with all my determination.

How was I to know Mrs Akhtar was leaning forward at the time in a bid to calm me down.
All I heard was a searing scream, then a thud.

As I jumped off the chair the ground beneath me felt really squashy.

Mrs Akhtar was laid flat out on the floor and I was standing on her gall bladder….

In all fairness, she did lift my life time ban from the surgery…eventually.
Some months later she went to Mecca on Hajj and whilst there had an epiphany, so to speak. She’d realised that perhaps she hadn’t been as forgiving as her religion had taught her to be.
To quote her ‘out of all the things Allah has ever thrown at me, letting you back onto my patient list will be the biggest test of my faith,’

And since then, not a problem.

Although I must say she has developed a rather worrying habit of grinding her teeth…and her being a dentist…doesn’t set a good example.

About me!

The subject of personal data storage in organisations has reared its ugly head again. Human rights campaigners have warned of such data being held by certain bodies, the fear of improper usage, but most of all inaccurate information and the damage it can do.
Hear hear I say;
You may be wondering why I have chosen to speak out about this. Well, I have too been the victim of improper data collection…

Let me fill you in.

It all began at a gathering at a friend’s house. There I was minding my own business (eyeing up the table of food to be precise) when a ‘Hello’ took me by surprise.
“Oh Hi.” I replied.
There beaming at me was this bloke. “I’m Jignesh,” holding out his hand.
“I’m Jo Jo,” I reached out taking his hand.

After we exchanged names, we did the ‘how we knew the host’ and then finally, ‘the what we did for a living’… Jignesh began first.
“I’m in marketing” He announced rather proudly. There was something quite child like in his stance. It reminded me of Cousin Minu Didi’s little one. Whenever asked her age, she stands quite straight and proudly announces ‘I’m 5 and a quarter.’
The quarter being extremely important
.
Jignesh spent the next fifteen minutes telling me and the others around me about the weird and wonderful world of marketing.

Apparently, what we buy, our age, things we’ve said in surveys, etc, put us into a demographic and marketing firms then target us with appropriate good and services.

“Take loyalty cards,” Jignesh began explaining with a serious tone to his voice. “They give you only a penny for every pound you spend. And they get billons of pounds of marketing data in return. They have an in dept picture of each and every person. That’s what I compile. Potential customer profiles.”

I think that was a fancy way of saying this guy was the one who set us up for cold calling and spam emailing.

THOUGHT PROCESS AT TIME.
So let me get this straight…

1) You choose people at random.
2) They’re tracked them until you know every little thing about them,
3) Then the harassment starts?

...My god, that’s one step away from stalking.
Help! I’m trapped in a confined space with a potential lunatic…

“Everything you do is worth billons to a marketing team’ He repeated his face beaming having failed to notice I was looking more and more alarmed with each passing sentence.

The way he was talking it’s as if somewhere out there is an unsuspecting building, where once inside you’re face to face with a wealth of high tech gadgetry, like something out of ‘Spooks’. In-depth dossiers about me and my lifestyle are stored and updated with every frivolous purchase. Lots of men in suits do that intense walking and talking down long corridors (that’s the bit in ‘Spooks’ I do like; Rupert Penry Jones and Raza Jeffery were fucking A-class at it) and if televised there’d be very choppy camera work – to give it that urgent feel.

“Marketing is so slick,” Jignesh continued, foolishly proud that he had a hand in our on going harassment, “everything that comes to you is tailored to you.”
“Yea right!" Interrupted the host Prakash “I’m inundated with emails about Rolex watches, do they know how little I earn?”

Another guest started complaining about the spam regarding luxury apartments in Dubai. “I can’t keep up with the mortgage I have here, let alone abroad, no matter how much Kristy Allsop and her heaving bosoms try to entice me.” He then looked straight at me, “Don’t you agree Jo Jo”
“Hmmm,” I nodded uncomfortably trying to be as non-committal as possible. I was hoping as hell it wasn’t expected for me to divulge what successful person-esk product was I being bombarded with.

If the marketing fraternity have my bio data, then that’s a bit worrying.

Jignesh’s words rang like a scary echo in my ear, ‘everything that comes to you is tailored to you,’ and in some cases I can see how.
My friend Hiten always has coupons for 2 4 1 meals at certain eateries, as he likes to dine out a lot.
Another friend Meera is always forwarding me 20% off coupons at The Gap and Oasis. This suits her, as she is a fashionista
But do I get inundated daily with hordes of emails to purchase Rolexes, or to join in with the Dubai set, or invited to dine with a friend at certain eateries?
No!
Valium, Viagra and items that should help improve a flagging sex life.

THOUGHT PROCESS AT TIME
Why? Who’s said what? Any allegations are unfounded and can not be proved.

Where are they getting their data? What kinds of lies are being spread about me in marketing no man’s land.

There have been times, I would like to make it clear, where I have single handedly kept the shops in Hounslow High St in profit with the use of my credit card alone. I’m always hooking up with friends for lunch, cocktails with the girls on a Friday night.
And as for intimate business; that is private and I do not talk about it BUT, if a I have to frog march any ex-boyfriends in front of this marketing maniac to publicly put the record straight, then god damn it I will.

I should be within this demographic – the sassy, financially independent girl-about-town category.

I’ve never understood those people who spout, ‘if you got nothing to hide, then you’ve got nothing to fear’
Well it’s fine & dandy for them; lets see how long that stance last once they’ve been inaccurately branded as a spend thrift manic depressive who has no stamina and is more than a tad frigid between the sheets – the injustice.

Course of action? Shall find my local human rights group and join forthwith.

The things you find out

Read an article in a magazine today, ‘10 common health problems that go unrecognised’.
Each of the 10 common problems had a list of symptoms, which I had to put a tick against if I had been experiencing it.
Apparently, I have a Pulmonary Stenosis, the on set of Raynaud’s Disease, and in need of an urgent surgical procedure on my fractured spinal disc due to an intense trauma to my lower lumber.
Despite the severity of my discovery, am in two minds as to whether I should visit the GP or not. Scared that if I barge in demanding an immediate operation on my back, he may jot down mentally deranged on my medical records! Hmm Dilemma dilemma!