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My Turn by Dmae Lo Roberts

From The Asian Reporter, V36, #6 (June 1, 2026), page 6.

I was sitting in my dentist’s chair getting a digital scan for my new crown the other day. I have spent a lot of days in the dentist’s office the last couple years. Bad teeth equal implants, unfortunately. Instead of popping a denture-like cast filled with plaster to make a mold of your teeth, it’s become more boring. They now scan your teeth by moving a plastic marker-size tube inside your mouth.

As usual, the Muzak (or more likely Pandora or Spotify) was set to a playlist of nostalgic tunes. This time it was ’80s New Wave. That’s really some of my favorite music because it’s the era of my coming of age. There was also the launch of MTV and wild music videos that for the first time gave us images of musicians playing and dancing to their own music or the music being interpreted by young indie filmmakers with surreal plots and costumes.

The song playing through the ceiling speakers of the dental office was "Sultans of Swing" by Dire Straits. While lying there having my mouth scanned, I was transported back to 1980 when I was on the Magic Bus (it really wasn’t) — a Greyhound-sized bus filled with young backpackers like me.

We were taking a three-day trip with minimal stops from London to Athens, Greece, via two ferry trips across the English Channel and another ferry from Brindisi in Italy to Corfu in Greece then to Athens, the birthplace of ancient democracy and lots of ruins like the Parthenon on the Acropolis. I was travelling on $20 a day with my Hitch-hikers Guide to Europe book. Yes, that’s right … $20 a day.

Nobody on the bus knew each other. We only stopped for meals and bathroom breaks, and to get on and off ferries. One night, when we were crossing the Alps, "Sultans of Swing" was playing on the crappy speakers. I couldn’t sleep (those mountains were colossal!), but I liked the song, so I called out in a timid voice to anyone who was awake, "What’s this music?"

A male voice answered back, annoyed, like it was a stupid question. "It’s Dire Straits, love," he called back in a Cockney dialect. He was right to be pondering why this Yank had never heard of this band. The song was released in 1978 after all. But way back then, it took a year or two for music from Europe to make its way to America. Record companies actually shipped albums by boat to get radio station airplay. No internet back then; nothing was instant.

I broke out of my reverie and told the dental assistant about the song and the memories it brought back. She was very polite in the way you know people are, just humoring you, with no real connection to your story in their eyes.

I know that look. I see that look more and more the older I get. It’s similar to the look I had as a kid when my Depression-era grandparents talked about having one pair of shoes all year and walking in the snow barefoot or making clothes from potato sacks.

I’m sure my eyes also glossed over when I looked at my Oklahoman grandparents — one of whom also talked about crossing the Ozarks in a wagon when they were children. Just like this dental assistant or anyone her age does when I talk about the 1980s — or worse, the 1970s!

Moments like these make me question if I should talk to younger people about past experiences, of which there are so many. We are a complex hard drive of lived experiences that sometimes feel like they go on forever. I have memories starting back as far as when I was two years old. One hopes people would be interested in them. Sometimes they are. But it feels like quite often, they are not.

As the dental assistant re-inserted the tube device to continue the scan, I pondered these things. What else is there to do while at the dentist confined to a chair with Muzak playing? Then the song changed to "Hungry Like the Wolf," another ’80s song. But this one wasn’t a happy memory.

I became aware of this Duran Duran song when I lived in Eugene during the trial of Diane Downs. I thought of telling the dental assistant that this was Diane Downs’ favorite song and she tapped her feet to it during her trial for murdering her … I stopped myself. I decided not to go there; I figured it would not go over well if I said anything.

Instead, I listened to more ’80s music and delved into so many memories. I silently hoped for something more cheery to come on, though, like a song by Cyndi Lauper or The Go-Go’s.

Sometimes you don’t have to share all your memories.