“Hello, Grammy … .”

            4:04 p.m.

            The first syringe sale of the day.  The customer insisted it was for his grandmother’s cat.  At least he didn’t say it was for his grandmother or that he even had a cat for that matter.  Then I would’ve known for sure he was lying.

            6:39 p.m.

            “Shaw Pharmacy. May I help you?”

            “Hello, my name is Mrs. Gorecki.  I’m the third car back in Lane One.  I was wondering if you could please work faster.  I need to be at an appointment in a few minutes.” She paused. “Hold on a minute, I have someone beeping in.”

            Instinctively, I hung up the phone.  Mrs. Gorecki may need to contact her mobile carrier about the dropped calls  she’s experiencing. 

            Another needle transaction.  No pretense with this one, though.  Under the intended use section of the needle/syringe log the guy wrote ‘personal use’. 

from  My Life As A Retail Pharmacist – A Fictionalized Memoir of course

Both reminded me of an incident that happened recently.  Something, I may add, that has never happened to me in my twenty-five years of retail life.

During needle transactions, we at the pharmacy are constantly reminded that Michigan IS a clean needle state.  No shit idiot.  Though if we at the pharmacy constantly reminded those purchasing said clean needles that the needles should be used for their INTENDED purpose, we would most likely be reprimanded.

That said, on with the story.

A dude – late twenties – walked up to the counter requesting a ‘ten pack of 1cc long tips’.  Of course he did.  What else would he want? A laxative? So, we only had the 0.3cc or 30 unit short tip type available.  Upon inspection and the occasional, “hmm, I’m not sure this is what Grammy”, yes, he called her Grammy, ” actually uses” .

I asked, “How many units of insulin does Grammy inject.”

Dude, shrugs his shoulders, takes out is phone, and says, “let me call her and find out.”

As entertaining as this was, I was busy and really didn’t care for this ‘display’.  Spare me the theatrics, buy the damn needles and GO AWAY.

He didn’t.

Though the phone call to Grammy was … priceless.  And blog worthy.  He even ended the conversation with “yes, I know dinner is on the stove and I love you, too.” Isn’t that the most special thing you’ve ever heard? What a nice grandson!

Really, how fucking stupid do I look?

I’m sure my rant to continue on for quite some time, but I will refrain.  I’m working on decreasing my external stressers.  Whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean.  But I will close with two words that might decrease future sales.

Price adjustment.


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