As the school year begins with pandemic uncertainty hanging over us all, certain facts help keep me grounded in mundane reality. I have two kids in middle school, both of whom have been seeing an orthodontist for "monitoring."
The eldest child recently had her follow up, at which time it was deemed that her teeth were not going to straighten out on their own.
My wife, a physician-entrepreneur, often finds herself thinking of ways she might improve the customer experience when she visits another business. Our kids' orthodontist runs one of the few businesses that has left my wife speechless with how well he runs it.
Their appointments begin punctually, the way rumor has it that Franco ran fascist Spain - the old, "Say what you will about fascism, the trains ran on time," joke comes to mind.
They have promotions that get the kids excited to participate (guess the number of pencils in the jar and win a new backpack for school; take a photo of you and the laminated likeness of your orthodontist on your summer vacation and win a cash prize).
The promotions are amusing, feel more than a little contrived (as if lifted directly from a guerilla marketing book - which I want to give the guy credit for having read to improve his business), but the kids seem to respond. Or so say the photos of the children in Oaxaca, their faces smiling mischievously as they hold aloft laminated likenesses of their orthodontist.
The office has freshly baked chocolate chip cookies that it used to give, pre-COVID, as a parting gift to each patient and family member. Ending on a high note was a brilliant strategy, one that made my kids (and wife!) look forward to their appointments.
The guy also has impeccable bedside manner. He is genuinely interested in the kids, and they appreciate his authentic curiosity about their world.
We met in a conference room where a very polite conversation ensued including the expected course of treatment, whether it would hurt, and how long it would take. Although it was primarily directed at my daughter, I never felt excluded.
Then came the upshot: The bill would be nearly $6k, with a slight discount applied if paid in full up front.
In the past, this news would have transformed me into a 1950s dad like the one Tom Bosley played in Happy Days, ranting about the high cost of growing up.
Instead, my only lament to my wife was that I had not thought to enroll in a new credit card or two where this would have been a perfect opportunity to make the minimum spend to qualify for free rewards points.
We have the cash to easily absorb this shock without batting an eye. I'll lose no sleep over it, and will produce not one drop of gastric acid beyond the norm.
That's the gift of financial independence. I no longer stress about how much life's curveballs cost.