[My apologies about the spacing issues I've been having. Makes the posts difficult to read, but I can't seem to fix it . . . ]
"Joe Brown. You should have one prescription ready for me."
Smiling and cheerful: "Okay, Mr. Brown, I have a note telling me that your insurance says it's too early to refill your Cymbalta and they won't cover it for 3 more days."
Stop rolling your effing eyes at me, Brown. As though I am personally to blame for your insurance company's decision. Asshat.
"I'm here for pick up prescription. My husban, Hector Garcia."
Smiling and cheerful. And enunciating carefully: "There's a $56 co-pay for Mr. Garcia's medication today."
"I don' understan? I never have to pay before."
I have the deepest respect for anyone who packs up, settles in a different country and attempts to conduct their new life in a foreign language. But Mrs. Garcia, I don't want to try to explain "in the doughnut hole" (a concept I barely understand myself) in a language you don't have a full grasp of. Why isn't Pharmacist Greg bailing me out here? I guess he dreads this sort of explanation too . . .
"John Stevens. Hydrocodone."
I remember you John. From junior high. From high school. You don't have to tell me your name. You look exactly the same as you did 25 years ago. I can see in your eyes that you have no recollection of me. You were an out-of-touch druggie back then, and you're an out-of-touch druggie now. Your life has been infinitely more difficult than mine, hasn't it?
"Hi there, Mrs. Poldin. Picking up for Pete today?" Okay, but seriously? That "Jean Nate" commercial from when you and I were pre-teens? The one where the woman was shown splashing that nasty ass poison all over her body after a shower? That's not really the way you apply any after bath products or perfumes! Natalie can't wait on you. Her face swells and her neck itches if she's standing--and I'm not exaggerating--within a 10 foot radius of you. Whenever you leave, we plug in our fan to dissipate your cloud of being . . .
"Hi, I'm picking up today."
I remember your infallible face from the first time I saw you across the counter. But why are you talking to me as though I can recall your name from one meeting weeks ago?
Okay, now I remember. Curtis Scott. Sorry about that. And please, stop penetrating my soul with the intense energy of your eyes. You see all my flaws, don't you?
Noooooooooooo! Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit!!!!! Everybody else saw you coming and suddenly found themselves to be unbelievably busy. And left me to wait on you. Do you know you're batshit crazy? Do you know that when you threaten to take your business to another pharmacy, everybody in the back gets on their knees and takes up the Rosary--praying that you will go elsewhere?
Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit!!! I'll learn how to do this. They're hiring someone new in a few months and I'll catch on to the art of abandoning the new girl to the assmuppet customers!
"Hello there, Mrs. Roosevelt! How are you today?"
"I'm doing just fine. I came to get my insulin."
"Mrs. Roosevelt, it looks like you've reached your maximum on your insurance for this year. I'm afriad your co-pay for the insulin is $336."
"It's how much? I can't afford that!"
"I am so sorry, Mrs. Roosevelt. The first of the year is close and then you'll be covered again . . . "
"But what am I supposed to do until the first of the year without my insulin? Die?"
Oh no, please don't cry . . . There will be some way to work this out, just hold it together until I can get a pharmacist to help you figure out something . . . Please don't cry . . .
"Joshua Iverson. I just handed in my prescription 5 minutes ago. I'm not sure if it's ready yet?"
You are so, so young to be on Methadone . . . You're coming here more and more frequently, aren't you? How will this end?