Still here

Still haven’t left the island due to a total clusterfuck yesterday.

My dentist appointment was for 1:45pm, their office a fifteen minute walk from the ferry terminal.

I thought about the 11:20am ferry, but then I wondered what I would do with myself for an hour and a half in town. So I opted for the 12:35pm ferry, which would get me on the other side before 1pm with plenty of time to walk to the dentist’s office, where I could read my book until they were ready for me.

Now, I know that over the summer the ferries were constantly running late due to the high volume of traffic. It’s always the same in the summer. (Although quite why there were so many extra people here in the middle of a fucking pandemic was a very good question.) I thought that had died down after Labour Day. Even if the ferry was running half an hour later, I’d still have plenty of time to walk (in the pouring rain) to my appointment.

Oh, ha, bloody ha. At 12:35 there was no sign of the ferry. At 12:45, when there was still no sign, I went into the waiting room where a young lad was sitting, staring at his phone. Asked him if by chance he had any idea about the ferry. What he was staring at was the ferry app on his phone. Apparently the ferry had been sitting on the other side for half an hour and showed no sign of departing.

When it comes to the ferry I am quite lucky, even though I seldom use it. The man who lives in the house beside the ferry terminal happens to be a friend of my neighbour Pat. Said homeowner will let friends, who cannot find any room in the tiny carpark (half the slots of which are reserved for ferry workers), park their cars on his property if they’re going over as foot passengers. Although I’m not strictly speaking a friend of his, I am a friend of Pat’s, and thus the courtesy is extended to me, which is lovely.

So I left the waiting room and walked back to the next door property where I asked if I could (a) use his phone and (b) have a look in his local phone directory, which I knew included the number for the ticket booth on the other side. Got through and was told the ferry would be departing shortly. Estimated time before it was back on the town side? Around ten to two, he told me. Ah. Five minutes after my appointment, which meant I would miss it. Fuck.

Another phone call, this time to the island branch of the dental practice. I explained my dilemma. It would be necessary to rebook. When was the next time I could get in to see this guy? November 18. What the actual fuck? Does this tosser only work once a month? (Given the outrageous fees dentists charge, this does seem possible, even if unlikely.)

Obviously I should have gone for the 11:20 ferry. I was up and about. I could have easily made it (especially as it probably didn’t leave until nearly noon). Stupido mio.

Well, if nothing else (other than reminding me how unreliable the ferries are) this tells me one thing: Assuming for a moment that everyone felt safe to fly in May 2021, I will not, as I’d begun to hope, be going home for a visit to London. (Oddly, yes, I do still think of London as “home”.) The implant process takes months. First the extraction, then a temporary solution for six months until the bone has healed enough to be drilled into (or something like that) and only then the permanent implant. Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck.

Oh, my goodness, speaking of “fuck”…

A few days ago a friend posted this photo on my timeline, knowing how much I would enjoy the message. A number of friends, thinking this was a photo of a mug I own, asked where they could get one. I had to admit I had no idea.

Just now, before posting this annoyed-as-hell-about-dentists-and-ferries missive, I decided to find the photo to add here in order to cheer myself up a bit. Not only did I find the photo, there was also a message underneath it from my friend Jane, informing that she’d tracked the mug down and ordered one for me for my birthday which is coming up in early November.

Dentists may suck, ferries may suck, but friends fucking rock.