Overheard at the Pharmacy

28 06 2012

Customer: “I need you to refill my insulin. Oh, and can you tell me where I can find the Ding Dongs?”

Snort.

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The Drive-Up Window is My Archnemesis

29 04 2010

My pharmacy has a drive-up window. As you may have inferred from the title of this post, I hate it with the passion of a thousand fiery suns.

Satan's Preferred Transportation System

Today, for your reading enjoyment, I present:

Drive-Up Etiquette (or, Why You’re Lucky I Can’t Reach Out and Stab You in the Eye)

1. Get. Off. Your. Phone. Seriously. If you want us to help you, stop talking to your spouse/boyfriend/kid/baby daddy/drug dealer and pay attention to the person trying to give you (legal) drugs.

2. Press the call button once. We know you can’t hear it ding, but we can. When you press it 5 times in 10 seconds, we have the overwhelming urge to make you wait…just because we can.

3. If we ask for your picture ID, just send it. You have no idea how tempted we are to call the cops when you claim you have no ID with you. You drove here.

4. If you’re picking up a large prescription–nebulizer solutions, a giant bottle of Miralax, insulin syringes (to name a few)–don’t come to the drive-up. They don’t fit in the tube, and we’re not going to run them out to your car. We also prefer you not use the drive-up if you have 20 prescriptions.

5. If we tell you it will be ready in 15 minutes, don’t come back in 5 minutes and park yourself in the drive-up. Chances are your prescription isn’t finished, and you’re not our only customer.

6. When we ask if you need anything else, don’t say, “Yeah, an order of fries.” It’s not funny. It wasn’t funny the first time we heard it, and it certainly isn’t any better the 5,892th time.

7. If you’re the passenger in the car, please have the driver do the talking. As much as we enjoy trying to lip-read through the surveillance camera, it simplifies things to have the driver actually speak into the microphone. I realize it isn’t his or her prescription, but if you don’t trust a person to ask for your pills, you probably ought not trust that person to drive you around.

8. If you’re driving a diesel truck, turn off your engine. See above item about lip reading.

I know there are more things that bug me (When are there not?), but I have to go to bed at a reasonable time tonight. Tomorrow I get to spend seven hours being annoyed by people at the drive-up. Whee!

*Also? I have strep throat. And it sucks. Yes, that means I’m spending tomorrow spreading strep to all our pharmacy customers. I figure they gave it to me, so it’s karma.

**Shut up, WordPress. Whee is a totally legitimate word.





Adventures in Idiocy

28 04 2010

There are two techs-in-training at our pharmacy. Tech #1 (we’ll call him Stud, because he is awesome) is helpful, funny, and trying his hardest to learn the many things necessary to be a good tech. Tech #2 (we’ll call him Idiot, because that’s what he is) is self-centered, has no sense of humor, and wants everyone to give him all the answers. Because, you know, thinking is, like, hard and stuff.

As you may have surmised, today’s blog is a treasury of quotes from Idiot. I did not make any of these up.

To a female customer: “Why would you pay $50 for birth control?”
Female customer: “Do you have any idea how much it costs to have a baby?”

“My wife won’t use birth control.” (Idiot is currently engaged.)

“I won’t let my wife see a male doctor. I don’t want any other guy to see her like that.”

“Oh, man. My abs are so sore! I worked them way too hard yesterday!” (This comment, in and of itself, isn’t necessarily awful. Repeated 20 times throughout the day, it begins to grate on me.)

And my personal favorite:

“How do I keep my wife from getting fat after we’re married?”

Dude.

*Yes, I know I missed last night. I fell asleep on the couch and when I woke up at 1:30 am, I just didn’t have it in me. If you count Wordless Wednesday, I’m doing TWO posts today!

**Big G update: The pediatrician said Big G might be having myoclonic seizures. Since he’s not positive, we have an appointment with a pediatric neurologist in 2 weeks. I appreciate everyone’s concern!





You Probably Shouldn’t Have Sex

23 04 2010

As many of you know, I have an unnatural fascination with prescription medication commercials. Okay, fine, it’s really just the medications for erectile dysfunction. And no, this obsession has nothing to do with my love life, you perverts.

Anyway, I saw a commercial for Viagra tonight in which a gentleman (we’ll call him “Bob”) was conversing with his reflection. “Are you going to talk to the doctor about our erectile dysfunction?” This concerned me. Does Bob frequently seek advice from his reflection? Or is he speaking in the royal “we”? Either way, I find myself somewhat concerned about Bob’s significant other. Does he or she know about Bob’s disturbing habit of speaking with nonexistent personages?

As I pondered this question, I saw this flash on the screen and decided Bob’s psychiatric condition is probably irrelevant:

Dude. Seriously?

I’d ask if this warning is really necessary, but I work in a pharmacy and am sadly aware that it is. Still, I’d like to go on record as saying that if you’re stupid enough to think Viagra protects against STDs, you’re definitely too stupid to have sex.

In other news, my list of people too stupid to have sex is becoming unruly. Perhaps it’d be more efficient to have a list of the people allowed to have sex. I’ll start working on that.

*Thanks to all of you for your support and encouragement. We have an appointment with the pediatrician next week, so hopefully we can start to get some answers. Now stop making me cry.

**WordPress doesn’t like STDs. But really, who does?





Beautiful Lumps of Coal

1 04 2010

“Can we ever give up trying
To be something in another’s eyes?”
~ Plumb

I hope you’ll forgive me for going all introspective again. I’m telling you, it’s the hormones. And the 15 years of therapy, but mostly the hormones. I also need to stop listening to Joshua Radin and Elliot Smith late at night.

Last week we had a woman come into the pharmacy to pick up her phentermine. For those who may not know, phentermine is half of the phen-fen combination–the only part still legal. It’s basically an appetite suppressant. It’s not at all abnormal to have somebody bring in a phentermine script, but what made this woman stand out was her age. She was 65.

Please know that I’m not suggesting at all that 65 is old. Somehow, though, in my head I’ve always assumed that by the time I reach retirement age, I’ll have found some sort of peace with myself. Currently my body and I have a cease-fire of sorts going, but I don’t think I’d call it peace by any stretch of the imagination.

I worry about what we do to ourselves in the name of beauty. This woman was already hypertensive, and rather than discuss things with her primary care physician, she went to the local “medical weight loss” clinic, where they apparently either don’t check medical histories or just don’t care. (I’m not sure which of those options is most horrifying to me.) I’ve seen these clinics give weight-loss prescriptions to women who are at most a size 6–women who are unhappy with the post-pregnancy pouch, or who feel like they just need to lose those last five pounds and then they’ll be truly happy with themselves.

I suppose I’m grateful they’re back to the phentermine. For a time, the clinics were messing with thyroids and insulin levels. Hey, you know what can happen when you mess with a thyroid that isn’t underactive? Think Igor in Young Frankenstein. (“Wow, you look great! Have you been losing weight? I wish I co–OH, SWEET HEAVEN HAVE MERCY, YOUR EYES!!!”)

As usual, I’m rambling. Shocker. I just wish we could find ways to accept ourselves, cellulite, pock marks, baby bellies and all. I wish I could believe it when my husband tells me I’m beautiful. I wish my friends who have stopped using meth could see that they aren’t fat–they’re finally healthy, and their curves are gorgeous. I wish I could wipe from memory the punk-ass kid in high school who told me my butt was big. And honestly? My personal biggest wish is that I could look in the mirror and say, “I’m beautiful” instead of “I’m beautiful for a fat girl.”

Lots of wishing, no good answers. Such is life. I suppose we just keep pushing through. Oh, and spending lots of time with therapists. 😉

Speaking of therapists, I called mine over a week ago to make an appointment and he never returned my call. I’ll never understand why therapists do that to patients with documented abandonment issues. It’s like he’s messing with me. Of course, if I were a therapist, I would totally do that. I’d screen the calls of paranoid patients and call them back 30 seconds later. So I’m thinking it’s probably a good thing I’m not a therapist.

My unrelated thought for the night: My husband has a very unique first name, so I prefer not to use it on my blog. I mean, good luck tracking down Jenny Smith in Utah, but add in my husband’s name, and I know you’ll all be stalking me because I’m just that awesome. I’ve been trying to think of what to call him on my blog that’s not as impersonal as an initial, and I’ve finally decided what it will be: Muffin. From now on, when I refer to Muffin, you’ll know it’s my husband.

This nickname serves several purposes. First and foremost, it amuses me terribly. I also like the fact that the readers who know him will giggle every time they read it. Also? Now I can say I know the Muffin Man. In fact, I’m married to the Muffin Man.

I really, really need to go back to my resolution to write my blogs before 11 pm. You know, before my ADD meds wear off.

*How is the word “butt” not in the WordPress spellcheck dictionary? Is it for the same reason that I can’t use “slut” or “queer” for the Boggle game on my Palm?





Bits and Pieces

28 03 2010

It’s late and I’m tired, so today I’m going to provide you with this gem of a letter. Sadly, I’m pretty sure he’s not being sarcastic. Equally sad (but still hilarious)? The fact that letters like this are a daily thing for the Salt Lake Tribune.

Also, if you need another laugh, check out this awesome story. If giving CPR to roadkill doesn’t convince you to join AA, nothing will.

Save me!

For those wondering why I was pantomiming breastfeeding to a hispanic man–he was picking up medications for a woman who’d just had a baby. The medication order called for Lansinoh, a lanolin cream which breastfeeding mothers are sometimes given at the hospital. I was trying to clarify that a) she hadn’t already gotten it and b) she really was breastfeeding and needed it. This all led to me pantomiming and saying, “para dolor,” (for pain) which is one of the few Spanish phrases I’ve managed to pick up at work.

Never say I’m not dedicated to our customers.





No Hablo Español

27 03 2010

Today I had to pantomime “breastfeeding” to a 39-year-old hispanic man. I think it might be time to take a few Spanish classes. You know, before I get arrested for indecency in the middle of a grocery store.

I guess I should just be grateful he wasn’t getting suppositories.