"Four out of five dentists recommend…"
He didn’t. He didn’t recommend the sugarless gum, or the toothpaste, or the curved toothbrush that could clean your tonsils. He wasn’t like that, but because he wouldn’t bend, they were determined to break him.
The other four sold out. Maybe some of them didn’t sell out cheaply, or did so with reservations, but that didn’t matter now. They chose their side, and now the fight was his alone.
The companies wanted him on their side, but they didn’t need him. Four out of five was good enough for them. Oh, sometimes they boosted the numbers, claiming ten out of twelve, and maybe that was true. Maybe there was, somewhere, another dentist who held firm against the pressure. But four out of five, ten out of twelve, hell, even eighty out of one hundred; it all boiled down to the same, hard ratio. Oh, how he wished it was eighty out of a hundred. At least then he’d know that there were nineteen others out there just like him. A band of allies, a true resistance movement, either standing tall and proud or skulking in the shadows, waiting to strike. Refusing to sacrifice their honor for base money.
But the other four caved. They recommended the gum. Oh, sure, maybe it was only to their patients who chew gum; they could easily rationalize that. He knew how great the temptation was. If they’re going to chew gum, anyway, why not? What’s the difference between one toothpaste and another? Really, as long as they’re brushing, who cares whether they’re using a wire barbeque scrubber or the latest, most agile toothbrush to ever grace the human mouth? Sure, it was easy to give in. Sign the agreement, take the cash, and press a bag of trial-sized goodies into the patient’s hands while they’re leaving. Turn your head if you have to, or make your dental techs do it. Pretend that your hands are clean, that your conscience isn’t too muddy. It’s just business, that’s all.
He couldn’t do it. He wasn’t that cynical, or able to lie to himself and pretend that it didn’t corrupt him, didn’t taint his calling with the taint of base greed.
"Oh, but you’re taking money anyway," they argued, "Why not just a little more?"
No! He only took money for his skill, his time, and the materials, not to shill for corporate masters. He was a dentist, proud and mighty. He fought against corruption, against the dark, destroying stain. A drill-wielding warrior, he rescued people from their own sins: sins of sweet gluttony and green, decaying sloth. He made them clean, and whole, and strong once again. As with all warriors, the people feared him, but they also knew that they needed him.
The other four could pretend that as destroyers of taint, they were themselves immune to it. But he knew better. The Four were tainted and corrupted, and even if the corruption wasn’t visible, it would eventually destroy them. They could try to hide it, whiten it, drill and fill it, but it would only continue to spread.
It was the teeth, he knew, that were the true windows to the soul.