A week in the life of a Dental Mechanic. By Andy Sanson

A WEEK IN THE LIFE OF...

A DENTAL MECHANIC

This is the first in the series of diversionary and humorous articles, it is a modern iteration of the previous feature titled ‘Lateral Thinking’ by Andy Sanson. Andy is a retired Dental Technician who has kindly offered to share some of his stories and experiences throughout his career.

By Andy Sanson

It was never my intention to be a dental mechanic. Before I found myself pressganged into seeking a job I didn’t even know such a thing existed. The thought never occurred to me that the bleached objects Aunty Dolly immersed each night in her bedside glass of diluted Domestos must have been made by somebody. It wasn’t the sort of thing a fifteen year old acne carriage in Early Sixties’ Merseyside dwelt upon very much. Mini skirts, the Space Race,

Dr Who and the Rolling Stones, yes - false teeth, I don’t think so. I lived on the Wirral, a short ferry ride from the Cavern Club. The

Beatles, the Stones, the Who, Small Faces and the Kinks took up the percentage of my time that didn’t involve falling down wells and dreaming up more and more destructive ways of using the Standard bangers and rockets I had squirreled away in little hideyholes for use in the school holidays.

By the time it came to seeking gainful employment, Merseyside had become the Welsh Borders, fireworks had become motorcycles and jelly and ice cream, testosterone, which, for those whose attention may already be wandering, is not a triangular, Alpine-themed confection of chocolate, honey and nougat.

It was the summer of ’69. Neil and Buzz had just walked on the Moon, the Beatles had all but fallen apart at the seams and the Great Hippie Peace and Love Ideal would shortly come crashing down around the ears of us all at Altamont.

Ah, yes, the summer of ’69. That’s 1969 and not reference to an indeterminate summer during which I discovered the existence of certain activities from which I had been hitherto shielded by well-meaning ‘grown-

ups’. I was about to launch myself on the great Voyage of Life, drink loads of beer, have lots of girlfriends and... get that job.

My parents insisted that I should have a job to go to before school restarted in September, otherwise I would have to go back and become a sixth former. It may not have been as bad as I imagined, but at the time the prospect terrified me.

There were no JobCentres, Plus or otherwise. I shambled along to The Labour Exchange, exhibiting something less than the total conviction expected of me. I’d already been for one interview; for the post of Office Junior in the local County Surveyor’s Department… not at all what I had in mind for myself. In truth, I had nothing in mind for myself, but had I so done it would not have been anything involving the words Office, Junior and Department, neither singly, severally or in any order. I made sure I didn’t get that one.

When I returned home with the news that I was to start work as an apprentice dental mechanic it was as though I had announced my imminent succession to the Throne.

“Ooooh, that’s a good job”, “Those get good money, you know” and, “Well, there you are. After all your fuss you’ve certainly landed on your feet”. ?????????

Perhaps everyone imagined the end result of all this would be my qualification as a dentist, but whatever they envisaged for me was not the same as the thing in which I ended up embroiled for the next nineteen years. Whilst not wishing to doubt the value and esteem of the trade of Dental Technology today, back then it was something of a poor relation to just about anything else that existed with the possible exception of toilet cleaning.

Wages were pitiful, conditions Dickensian and prospects non-existent. The Laboratory (hereinafter referred to as The Lab) was usually nothing more than a perfunctorily converted cellar, attic, shed, flowerpot or other unimportant - and preferably unseen - cubby hole or broom cupboard. The mechanic himself was weedy, sickly, pasty-faced, blinking, myopic and a general, all-round embarrassment. The patient rarely got to know of his existence save that, when something went wrong it was the fault of ‘the bloody mechanic’. Otherwise the patient, newlyfitted and grinning would, in the lounge bar of the Spleen and Sneezewort, laud the “smashing pair of teeth my dentist made me”, all the while beaming, piano-like about the room.

Most of the customers (The Gentlemen) were of the old school, believing that both patient and mechanic should be kept firmly in their place. Only The Boss, and on rare occasions, the Senior Partner, ever got to meet them face to face. Even when we ragamuffins were allowed to go on The Round, work was passed to us via the nurse so the Master wouldn’t have to suffer the indignity of consorting with minions.

I turned up, scrubbed and sparkling, for my first day, expecting to be taken under the wing of an experienced tutor, shown the ropes and gradually honed into the finished product - a fully fledged Dental Mechanic. During my interview I had been given to understand that, in the ensuing five years, I would learn all there was to learn about my ‘chosen’ vocation. In the event it transpired that I did indeed acquire many skills, very few of which had even the most tenuous connection with Dental Mechanics.

Had it been my wish to forge for myself a career in painting and decorating, window cleaning, construction, gardening (landscape or cultivation), roofing, electrical engineering, plastering, catering, freight forwarding, secretarial duties, domestic services and so on and so forth, I would have had no cause for complaint. When I queried this ostensible disinclination towards the advancement of my education in those matters relating to the terms of my indentures, I was told it was due to lack of time, lack of get-up-and-go on my part, lack of resources and the fact that “you haven’t been here long enough”.

My fellow apprentices and I were actively discouraged from attending college where we might have acquired our City and Guilds on account of it being “a waste of time” and “you don’t need to know about all that rubbish to be a dental mechanic”

Of course, it was our interests which were held at heart and nothing at all to do with the fact that, not only would it cost them, but there would be the added indignity of having to give us a day off for the insult.

So, a typical week in the life of an apprentice dental mechanic, circa 1969:

Monday

09:00 - Make tea 09:10 - Feed cat 09:15 - Tidy rubbish in front garden (lab was extension to Boss’s house); chip papers, beer bottles and new-fangled cans with finger-slicing ring-pulls, vomit residual from weekend (pub down road) 09:30 - Turn that thing over to Radio 2 09:31 - Clean oven 10:30 - Dig patch in back garden ready for planting spuds 12:45 - Lunch (home) 13:45 - Make tea 13:55 - Tidy kitchen 14:30 - Sort rubbish and put in trailer for Boss to take to tip 15:30 - Make coffee 15:40 - Ask if allowed to mark up impressions for casting. Told not to be stupid 15:41 - Sent to chemist to buy Durex for Junior Partner 16:00 - Do up post 16:15 - Go to Post Office 16:30 - Can’t we find summat for that lad to do? 16:32 - Wash down walls in Chrome Department 17:00 - Home, but call at DIY shop and pick up emulsion. Be sure to ask for trade discount

Tuesday

09:00 - Make tea 09:01 - Turn that bloody thing over to Radio 2 09:10 - Begin emulsioning walls of Chrome Department 09:11 - But feed cat first 09:15 - Carry on emulsioning (starring Sid James, Hattie Jaques, Charles Hawtrey etc) 12:45 - Lunch (chip shop) 13:45 - Make tea 13:55 - Carry on emulsioning 15:13 - Haven’t you finished that %^%$£^& painting yet? Bloody kids, I don’t know, in my day etc etc…. 15:30 - Make coffee 15:40 - Ask if allowed to cast impressions. Told not to be stupid 15:41 - Finish emulsioning 16:00 - Tidy up. Do up post. Post Office 16:30 - Clean splashes of emulsion off Boss’s hat 17:00 - Home, but call at garden centre to pick up seed potatoes (put on account)

Wednesday

09:00 - Make tea 09:01 - Turn that %^%$£^& thing over to Radio 2 09:10 - Clean windows 09:35 - Feed cat (late) u

09:40 - Apply ointment to scratched hand 09:45 - Sort out trailer (items brought back from tip by Boss; broom handle, electric flex, old paint brushes, black and white bathroom tiles, art deco lamp shade) and clean 10:30 - Plant seed potatoes 12:00 - Phone order to Chinese takeaway 12:05 - Rescue cat from pear tree 12:30 - Go to Chinese to pick up order 13:05 - Lunch (late - Chinese not ready) 13:50 - Bollocking for being late back - Chinese excuse invalid 13:53 - Make tea 14:05 - Wash cars 15:00 - Clean toilets 15:30 - Make coffee 15:40 - Wash hands 15:41 - Ask if allowed to repair midline fracture. Told not to be stupid

15:42 - Fetch plaster from shed. Suggest access to shed awkward due to proximity of the wall. Told to stop whinging 15:45 - Might as well start doing up post 16:05 - Post Office 16:30 - Weed front garden 17:10 - Home, but call at DIY shop to pick up tile cutter and cement (trade discount)

Thursday

09:00 - Make tea 09:01 - Turn that %^%$£^& thing OFF! 09:02 - Lecture about lack of manners, consideration, ideas of fun etc of emergent generation 09:15 - Feed cat 09:20 - Fix tiles round sink in main lab (paint dog poo in pretty colours) 11:00 - Boss returns from wherever. Remove tiles and fix alternately black and white 12:45 - Lunch (pub!) 13:46 - Make tea 13:55 - Boss suggests shed too near wall 13:57 - Begin dismantling shed for removal to far end of garden 15:30 - Make coffee 15:40 - Don’t bother asking is allowed to do anything connected with dental mechanics. Asked if I shouldn’t be giving serious thought to commitment to the job. Ask if allowed to grind flash off dentures. Told not to be stupid 15:45 - Carry on moving shed (no post today) 17:15 - Home, but call at hardware shop for padlock for shed to replace one lost during relocation (cost to be deducted from wages)

Friday

09:00 - Make tea 09:01 - Boss smashes radio with deflasking mallet and chucks in trailer 09:02 - Asked if I might like to consider paying visit to barber tomorrow. Don’t want any beatnik types working here, thank you. What do you think this is, that Woodstick or something (Man)? 09:10 - Connect shed electrics 09:45 - Switch on compressor in shed 09:46 - Mend fuses 10:15 - Attacked by ravenous cat. Feed it 10:20 - Boss worried about news report last evening warning of imminent n uclear holocaust 10:22 - DIY shop to buy spade, trade discount etc… 10:38 - Begin digging fallout shelter 10:45 - Boss makes phone call to Lodge member - oops! - business associate 10:50 - Stop digging 10:55 - Return spade to DIY shop 11:15 - Fit new screen to Boss’s Raleigh Wisp (blew over in gales) 12:00 - Roof leaking. Go up to discover source 12:05 - Remove last Autumn’s leaves from roof. Apply mastic 12:45 - Lunch (pub!!) 13:59 - Told off for being late back. Don’t care. Make tea 14:07 - Make more tea. Hot water this time 14:13 - Phone travel agent to order brochures for Boss’s holiday (Majorca) 14:28 - Rake gravel on path 15:30 - Make tea 15:35 - Pour tea down sink 15:36 - Make coffee 15:40 - Told to get repair model 15:45 - Regain consciousness. Asked if still required to get repair model. Told not to be stupid 16:00 - Post etc…. 16:55 - Asked why so long at Post Office, Don’t have answer. Don’t care 16:59 - Chip shop 18:00 - Pub… hic……

Saturday

01:30 - HIC!!!!!!!