At the Corner of Happy & Healthy

There’s no getting around it.  I miss the days when things just worked.

The pharmacy is deserted save for the surly old pharmacist, a nasty piece of business, as my British friends say, a man who clearly has nothing but contempt for his customers and who carries a chip on his shoulder the size of Montana.   He knows I’m at the drop off window but his eyes never leave his computer screen, hoping that if he ignores me long enough I might go away.

Excuse me, I finally say in as friendly a tone of voice as I can muster and hold out an empty prescription bottle, Can you please tell me how much it would be to fill this?

He sighs massively and I remember more clearly why I don’t patronize this particular pharmacy.

Have to look it up, he mutters but makes no move to climb off his stool.

Fine, I say, trying to keep an even tone but already tasting anger in the back of my throat.

He continues to type, scowling at the screen.

I’ll wait, I say helpfully and he glares at me.

Have to call the pharmacy that originally filled it for you, he says as if I’ve asked him to sacrifice a virgin, Takes time to transfer a prescription.  Another massive sigh.

Now afraid that I might throw something at him, I set the empty bottle on the counter and nod toward the row of chairs.

I’ll wait, I say again.

Twenty five minutes later when there’s been no word, I approach the counter.  He’s back on his stool, face locked in a death stare of perpetual resentment.  A third massive sigh.

They’re not answering, he tells me, Been on hold with’em ever since you came in.

This is so clearly a lie that I almost laugh.  When I say as much, his face darkens.  I reach my hand for the prescription bottle and when he hands it to me I snatch it like a hot rock.

You ought to try a different line of work, I snap, Something that doesn’t involve people.

A fourth and final massive sigh and as if I’d wished him a long and happy life, he returns to his computer screen.

About the pharmacy, I’m telling the store manager minutes later, You really need to up your game.

He looks at the floor and apologizes, explaining to me that this is a complaint he hears on a daily basis – and has been hearing for years - and that there’s nothing he can do.

It’s corporate, you see, he says sadly as if that explains everything.

And indeed it does. 

The following morning I take my prescription elsewhere – same company, different pharmacy – and am welcomed with a smile and a cheerful attitude.  Who says there’s no such thing as a geographic cure?