The Fiduciary

Although we lived in nearby Rocky Hill, a mere ten minutes from the university, it was not until my parents dropped me off for orientation that I actually saw its illustrious heart: main campus. As usual they were in a hurry and as usual we were late. So regular were these habits and so normalized their self-obsession that it was never even a question as to whether they would be there to see me in to my dorm. Of course not. It was only my first day of college. And I was only a little surprised when they announced at an inconspicuous street corner that this was as far as they could go: “Too much traffic along the main arteries; you understand.” And part of me did.

My bags unloaded and the quaint orientation lanyard secured diligently around my neck I set off to explore this foreign and yet intimately familiar landscape. Leering at the gothic spires of old and the glassy-metallic sheen of new, obsessing over the manicured lawns, devouring the hale trees that lined the university’s storied paths — it was more exhilarating than my first orgasm. I could feel the power, the prestige, the status, coursing through my veins as my heart rate escalated and as a small bulge began to intrude upon the depression that my curved palm sustained, sitting obediently as it was in my pocket. Most exhilarating indeed.

Later that same semester I paid a visit to my former dentist — former because she practiced pediatric dentistry and I was an adult, a Princeton Man. As always she admonished me to continue flossing, suggested a friend of hers who practiced even closer to my new home and who saw students just like me all the time.

“You must be Jonathan,” he said warmly.

“Jonathan Kowolski, sir. I’m here for my bi-annual teeth cleaning. My appointment is at 1:30pm.”

“Very good. I’ve heard you’re a student at Princeton, Jonathan. Very impressive.”

“Thank you, sir,” I beamed, his tongue-in-cheek tone lost entirely on my freshman naiveté. Slowly my eyes began to widen and in no time at all I was once again fighting with my flaccid hands, struggling to insert them at last into my pockets. My father’s scratchy tenor echoed in my head: You can’t blow this one, J. At least my pants were thick.

“What is it that you’re planning on studying, if I may ask?”

I had, of course, given this question extensive thought. And now was the moment of narrative collapse: the story had to continue and I could afford to wait no longer for a resolution simply to land in my lap.

“Anthropology.” It slipped out of my mouth, generously.

“Very interesting. Well I look forward to getting to know you in the years to come. For now, open on up and we’ll get started.”

The cleaning completed I had only to fill out several intake forms. The dental assistant stopped beside me, a clipboard clenched to his chest, and explained where to check and what to sign. He was a sickly fellow and his expressive eyes belied the cavernous expanse that apparently stretched on behind them.

He returned to exchange my autograph for the standard baggy of dental accoutrement, the toothbrushes and travel-sized toothpastes, and began explaining why they had left out the floss.

“This new research, it shows that when dental offices promote flossing their profits generally suffer. So we’ve proudly decided to embrace evidence-based practice and are elated to announce that we’re no longer providing floss or even recommending that our patients do so.”

On my way out I overheard him whispering to the receptionist, barely able to contain his own excitement: “Isn’t it just so novel?”

That spring I visited Dr. Katz for another routine cleaning. It had rained the day before and when I walked in that morning the entryway carpet couldn’t hide the fact that the dental office’s choice of gravel for their walkway was simply low-class.

“Good morning, Jonathan! We are doing great today. Since we’ve implemented our new cleaning protocols our profits have been steadily on the rise. Dr. Katz gave us all a bonus. See?”

She pointed to a gaudy gold chain set so tight around her neck it almost chocked her. What was it with this place today?

I followed Katz’s advice religiously and it showed during my cleaning. Practically every other tooth he touched he had to wipe clean the floss of blood and plaque. It felt like someone had punched me in the mouth, like my front left tooth had been knocked clean and was rotting in my stomach acid now. I imagined fighting back, uttering terrifying and terrorizing screams of murderous intention as I pummeled some amorphous face into a gentle pulp.

“It feels like there’s still debris in my mouth, Dr. Katz. Could you maybe go back around, with greater pressure this time?”

The receptionist had rewarded herself. The handsome Katz and his skilled fingers, dancing as they were in my mouth, got their cut. Even the sadists had gained some legitimacy. And here I was, rushing to my short pockets once again to conceal my whole-body excitement. I couldn’t chew solid food for the rest of that day but I vowed that night never again to floss.

At the end of my time at Princeton I toyed with the idea of going to graduate school but in the end decided it would be too much work for not enough reward. What was I going to do with a Ph.D. in anthropology that I couldn’t do already? So I decided to follow a few of my friends into the financial world and took up a position with JP Morgan Chase. The incentives were just too good to turn down.

“So, Mrs. Robinson, that’s my story. Short and sweet. And the dentures, they’re really not that bad. I really do recommend that you dispense with that horrid flossing habit of yours.”

As I said this I looked practically straight through her insignificance to the mirror I had installed on the back wall, adjusting my tie and fixing my hair.

“Now that we know a bit more about each other let’s get down to the investment talk.”

Opening the thick folder before us, the folder that I am sure had been eating into Mrs. Robinson’s attention since she first sat down, I began explaining her options and listing out my recommendations.

“In the end, Mrs. Robinson, I think this portfolio is my best bet. I’ve carefully vetted all of the stocks here and am quite certain that this particular collection will make me the greatest commission. What do you say? All we need to proceed is that dashing signature of yours on the dotted line.”

Published originally at nikita-bogdanov.com/2019/01/16/fiduciary/.