Adam Thomas, RPH

This is how I got through my last 12 hour day, short staffed, on only 3 hours of sleep AND my BF RPh from another store was ON VACATION.

9am     –   I CAN do this.  False optimism, wishful thinking, suppressed denial – Hmmm… .   Ask me at 9pm.

10am   –   Doughnut WITH sprinkles.  Mandatory for every 12 hour day regardless of circumstances.

11am   –   “I’m on vacation and … .”  Shut the fuck up and go back home. By the way, cowboy hats in Northern Michigan look really stupid.

12pm   –   Ring. Ring. “The store across town isn’t answering the phone.  Could you please call there and have someone call me back?”  No!  End call.  Saying good-bye is so overrated.

1pm     –   Comment about my lack of enthusiasm when I tell a customer to ‘have a nice day’.  Okay, then.  ‘Fuck off and go away.’ Is that better?

2pm     –   Twenty-something white male – ?-  with freakish hair AND a butterfly tattoo ON HIS NECK asks where the douches are located.           Two thoughts – look in the mirror and ask the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and see how well that goes.  

3pm     –   Half way there.  Unsettling, random thought on the state of health care attitudes – Does anyone ever get better? Does anyone want to?

4pm     –   Ring. Ring, “I’m here for the summer and need a prescription filled, but it’s complicated.” Two words – indefinite Hold.

5pm     –  When I say, “I’ll be with you in a moment.”  It is NOT an invitation to continue speaking.

6pm     –   “Where are the Preparation H and condems located?”  Aisle 5 – next to the catheters for sick chickens.  

7pm     –   I hate everyone. I could probably use another doughnut right about now.

8pm     –  Ring. Ring,     “Are you still open?”  Why do you think I’m answering the phone?

9pm     –   All of the above.

Now about that Monkey reference … .

Unsure whether I mentioned this before, but I can cook.  And, I love to do it.  I blame pharmacy, of course.  You know that whole compounding, organizational shit I often reference.  In this case, blaming my profession is a good thing.  Cooking is all about timing.  Once you have that down,no meal is impossible. In my opinion, a Thanksgiving feast is almost easier to execute than weekday suppers.

Only two things about cooking intimidate me.  The first is gravy.  Good gravy is hard to make.  I think it’s because it’s one of the last things to be prepared.  By that time, my patience is tapped.  All I want to do is eat.  Besides, gravy is very needy; too much undivided attention.

My second issue is grilling.  I’ve always been a below average griller.  We males have been cookin’ meat on an open flame since, like, caveman times.  Either I’m missing that gene or wasn’t given the ‘talk’.  The fact remains – my grilling skills could be better. Recently, I’ve experienced two words associated with grilling that are … concerning – grease fire.  Oh, yeah, baby, that flame was ‘this big‘ (hand motions included).  The smoke was actually billowing. Yes, I said billowing.  Very scary.  Luckily, I didn’t panic and contained the blaze successfully.

Baking soda is the most effective form of fire extinguisher; it quickly cuts off the oxygen supply to the flame. Keep a box or 2 in or near your grill station, as well as a fire extinguisher. Salt will also work in smothering a flame. DO NOT use flour, or water ever when you need to put out a grease fire. It will explode and can severely injure yourself and damage your home.

Grease fires are a rare and unexpected phenomenon and can happen to any griller on any grill, advanced or novice. But with proper maintenance of your grill, they should never happen to you. Just remember that you’re cooking with fire, so never leave your grill unattended. Besides, you don’t want to burn your steak do you?

http://www.napoleongrills.com/blog/articles/id/609/how-to-prevent-grease-fires

Unfortunately, there was a mess to clean up.  That Easy Off method wasn’t as easy as the testimonial proclaimed.  Imagine that.  Instead of focusing on cleaning woes again, I feel the need to share my random thoughts about grilling.

• I prefer side by side burners for indirect heat cooking.  That front-back set up is a pain in my ass.
• during summer, I use the grill as an oven – I just center the top rack appropriately and I am good to go.
• once used wood chips to smoke a turkey – a lot of work, but so well worth it
• never did the beer can chicken … . Yet.  Though the closing-the-lid-over-an-upright-chicken-clearance concept  still puzzles me.
• our first grill was a wedding present.  The funnest part was the dinner party we hosted to assemble it.

Lastly, I have never used the word ‘billowing’ to describe anything.  Quite frankly, I never want to use it again.  By the way, the smoke definitely got in my eyes.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lvUK4xqUBFs

Hotdogs anyone?

Initially, I was going to make this post a two-parter.  The topic of ‘stress’ can fill volumes of textbooks and keeps big Pharma in business, of course. Still, I had it all planned.  WebMD had a Top Ten list of way to combat stress.  At first glance it looked interesting enough. I would exclude the one point I wanted to highlight for  the follow-up post.  Stressed Out by twenty one pilots was the perfect ballad to complete the masterful post. Then, I realized  …

it sucked.

Like, waste of time sucked. The Top Ten list I mentioned was really lame. Worse – a life coach wrote the damn list.  A-Life-Coach. Finally, I actually listened to the words of the twenty one pilot song.  That dude has some serious issues.  Life can be stressful, but this dude wants to, like, crawl back into the womb. Wow.

Solution –

8. Crank Up the (Good) Tunes -better yet  sing at the top of your lungs!

Obviously, this was the point  I intended to highlight. And, it’s exactly what I’ve been doing lately – in my car.

Background –

I have always wanted to sing.  Unfortunately, I am horrible.   I’m not sure whether I’m tone deaf or just toneless.  It just doesn’t work for me.  Added bonus – my son chides me about my inability to carry a tune on a regular basis.  Nice kid, eh?  Though for all my failed attempts, one constant ‘positive’ has emerged – I sing scales very well.  Yes, you read that correctly – scales.  Warm-up exercises. That whole “let’s start at the very beginning”  because, you know,  it really is “a very good place to start”.

do – re- mi Sound of Music

One of my last failed attempts at an international singing career was with a local college instructor.  According to her, she was the answer for the want-to-sing community.  Her arsenal –  an entire CD collection of warm-ups for every AND all vocal ranges.  In my zeal to succeed, I purchased both medium-high and medium-low for the ‘male voice’.  Range is key.  Just not for me.  Let me clarify, I have range and can totally kill these scales.  But when I attempt to actually sing a song – Hmmm …. .  Not so much killin’ goin down there.

It’s all good, though.  I like singing scales in my car. It bothers no one and I feel accomplished, succeeding at something as simple of mastering do-re-mi.  Within minutes, my thought process is on a different track and it’s … good. Besides, I could give two shits about an international singing career.  Right now, only one goal exists – New York Times Number One Best Selling Author.

How do you end a post about singing in your car?  Just ask James Corden.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nu9bHK4b6j8

Random question – What would your porn star name be if you had no pets growing up and lived on a numbered street?

Hmm …. . Interesting.

I realize Spring is almost over, but I’m still cleaning. Besides, I mailed my Christmas cards out in April. So I’m thinkin’ this whole time issue is pointless.

I AM a very organized person.  Some might contend that I am a little too organized.  A few snide remarks probably come to mind for those that know me, but … fuck off, okay. Life is messy.  With the complications of mere existence, being organization is practically a necessity.   As a pharmacist, such skills are a prerequisite.  And, remember, I have three kids.   Any questions? Oh and that ‘fuck off’ was not intended to be offensive.  I wrote that with the utmost sincerity.

Some twenty years ago, I heard an anecdote about a key.  The teller of the story found a key, but had no idea what that key unlocked.  He must have been an organized dude, or just very obsessed about this particular key because he really wanted to know its origin.  He wrote the date on a piece of tape and attached it to the key.  If in a year he didn’t find the ‘lock’ to which said key belonged, he would throw it away.  Alas, the riddle was never solved and the key was discarded.

I liked this thought process and decided to apply it to my household belongings that have acquired over the years.  Unfortunately, I have a wife … that doesn’t agree with this ‘philosophy’.  Consequently, my basement is a complete mess, amassing heaps of  ‘we need to save that’ crap on every available piece of floor space.  I accept it for what it is and I am certain my day to clean will come.  Luckily, her embarrassment of ‘the basement’ is getting the best of her.  Hmm … . Imagine that.

Until that day of  the dumpster occurs, let me indulge my Freudian organizational observations about myself –

• my e-mail inbox is empty – everything has an appropriate file or is answered within 24 hours, then deleted
• likewise, I have a file drawer for important papers.  My wife, on the other hand, has piles of shit stacked on the counter top, causing it to slope accordingly. I exaggerated slightly, okay.  But I’m certain the counter will eventually sag from the load.  Really.
• I prioritize everything and can multitask as well, if not better, than any woman.  Bring it, bitches!
• on a random, but similar cleaning-type topic, I hate cleaning up peanut butter.  My daughter loves to eat it on ice cream or out of the jar.  She deals with that mess herself.  The residual smell seems to get EVERYWHERE  and lingers obnoxiously.
• I ‘m a closet slob in hotel rooms. I ain’t no Joe Walsh, tear(ing) out the walls. But I do need that – DO NOT DISTURB sign. You see, I DON’T   have accountants that pay for it all.

Joe Walsh – Life’s Been Good

Caution: this is a live version of the song that might be a good jam for longer cleaning jobs – like my basement.  Luckily, the verse referenced is in the first two minutes.  With that said –

Clean on!

Meet Your Next Favorite Book

Goodreads’ stated mission is “to help people find and share books they love… [and] to improve the process of reading and learning throughout the world.”  (Wikopedia)

Timeline:

• Otis and Elizabeth Chandler created Goodreads in 2006.
• In October 2012, Goodreads announced it had grown to 11 million members
• In March 2013, Amazon.com announced that it had reached an agreement to acquire Goodreads in the second quarter of 2013 for an undisclosed sum.
• In January 2016, Amazon announced on Shelfari.com that it would be merging Shelfari with Goodreads and closing down Shelfari.
• In April 2016, Goodreads announced that over 50 million user reviews have been posted

https://www.goodreads.com/

Think of it as the Facebook for book lovers.  And authors, of course.  Since the e-publishing world exploded, the connection between reader and author has grown stronger thanks in part to Goodreads.  The site allows both parties to interact, discussing the nuances of style and what readers want to read.  Don’t get wrong, nothing can replace an actual book signing in a book store.  Everyone there wants to meet you, inflate your ego to the nth degree, and have you sign your book – a hard cover copy fresh off the press that just smells heavenly.

Pause – I need a moment, please.

Until events such as this happen for me, Goodreads offers the exposure that is often hard to tap into.  When I started writing, the first thing anyone said was – ‘writing the book is the EASY  part’.  Wow, there’s an understatement.  That’s where this exposure thing comes into play. Goodreads helps navigate the e-publishing vault of looking for that perfect read.  Granted, using a search engine to narrow your inquiry could never compare to spending hours lost in a book store, asking well read staff members their ‘secret recommendations’.  But Good reads attempts to fill this void.

People are still …odd, though.  Even on a site such as this, ‘the line’ still needs to be walked – very carefully, I might add.  Once I queried a reader, asking about the three star rating posted for my book.  “I have no idea,” he replied flatly.  “I read it two years ago.”  And you’re just posting it now because why? I wanted to counter. But I refrained.  For a writer that ‘attitude’ can be … frustrating to say the least.  Warning: Readers can change their ‘star rating’ with the click of the mouse.

Ugh – damn lines.

The site itself is very user friendly.  Everyone has their own Bookshelf.  The Community tab links up to Groups, Quotes,Trivia, and Quizzes.  There’s even an  Ask the Author section.  No one has ever ‘asked me a question’  , but I have received five star ratings.  So, I’m good.  As for those quizzes… .  Sounds like something from my daughter’s American Girl magazine.

There’s more.  Hell, from some of the conversation threads I’ve followed, people spend a-l-o-t of time on here.  Who cares? Just as long as people buy and read MY books.

That’s about it for this post.  I will sign off with a wonderful Quote from the site –

“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.”

Dr. Seuss

Goodreading!

Well, I haven’t had a vocabulary lesson since my -ism post late December 2015.  So, I guess I’m due.  Trust me, this one is really stupid, but kinda’ fun and hip.  Besides, it IS that time of year.

According to the Urban Dictionary, a promposal is –

• A word referring to a proposal by either a male/female to a prospective date for prom. “Promposals” can be as simplistic as passing a note or as elaborate as proposing with a flash mob with 10 friends in nothing but their underwear in front of the whole school.
• The act of contriving an elaborate plan to increase your chances of getting at prom, that may

1 – end in utter, humilating failure, because high school relationships totally matter.

2 – result in a pseudomarriage that comes with an order of epicburger with fries on the side.

• Combination of the words prom and proposal

First, let me say one thing -damn teenagers.  Leave it to them to complicate the simple question –  “Would you like to go to prom?” Not only that, but everyone involved – the boy, the date, AND the parent’s wallet – are poised for disappointment. And, to go broke. After such a ‘spectacular’ invitation,  the expectations of the actual event  are ridiculously high. The anticipated pressure sucks the fun from the entire dance.

Damn teenagers – always trying to outdo one another.  Wonder where they get that from, eh?

I was going to include ‘Worst Promposal Ideas’ from Seventeen  but just couldn’t.  The website was so cluttered with annoying annotations and special offers.  To do that to innocent followers of this blog would be wrong.  Instead, I decided to highlight varied Google opinions on the Best Prom Songs.  Here is a short list in NO order of appearance –

1. Heaven         Bryan Adams
2. Faithfully     Journey
3. Take My Breath Away    Berlin
4. Wonderful Tonight     Eric Clapton
5. Crazy for You     Madonna
6. You and Me     Lighthouse
7. Truly, Madly, Deeply     Savage Garden

and

The ultimate prom song?

( had to include this for my blog bro Mr. Robert C. Bradshaw – download his book, too)

I attended prom both my Junior and Senior year of High School.  Junior year a friend of a friend just broke up with her boyfriend.  She had the dress, the tickets, and hell, I think she even had the flowers. No promposal needed –  Unexpected blast.

Senior year was different.  I actually asked the girl in a non-eventful way. She accepted.  We had fun.  Except for the bloody nose, of course.  No drama – just a bloody nose.  A condition that ‘runs’ in my family.  Get it? Bloody nose – run. Oh, did I say I wore a white tuxedo? Yeah, … .

Brooklyn 99 way to propse

Granted this is a marriage proposal, but it sets the standard for all future proposals.

One last time, damn teenagers!

After a certain age, your perspective changes on just about everything – especially compliments.  Or what exactly is considered a compliment.  At fifty,  … . Hell, you pretty much take anything you can get.

Let me explain.

For the past fifteen years, I’ve had an annual physical.  Actually, I just get my labs done on a yearly basis.  My doctor and I have an understanding – unless something ‘rogue’ shows up – I’m good.  Every now and then the office recommends a complete exam. And, every now and then, I concede, of course.  The words ‘turn your head and cough’ are never music to any male patient’s ear.  When you hit the mid-forties,  the prostate exam gets added.  Let’s NOT go there, eh? (bad pun intended)

Thankfully I have a wonderful rapport with the office staff. They love me.  Funny tidbit about my doctor’s office – apparently the receptionists are quite the busy bodies.  Every caller for the nursing staff is asked their name.  This is a pet peev of mine.  Why wouldn’t it be? I rise above it, though.  Instead of saying,  ‘it’s none of your damn business’, I provide an alias.  Dan, Frank, and Raoul have all been given.  Raoul was only given once because the receptionist was really stupid and asked me to spell it.  Anyway, when they find out it’s me, the nurses think it’s hilarious and appreciate my humor.  At least someone does.

Doctor my … eyes – J Browne

Back to my story. When the lab results are available, the nurse, let’s name her Ann, calls.  She agrees to fax the report, but before she does she fields my few questions.  Here is how our recent conversation went down:

Ann: Everything unremarkable – doctor is pleased. Wants you to make an appointment for a complete physical.

Me: Of course, he does.  Ann, it took me six months just to get my labs… .

Ann: (politely interrupting) So, I’ll just chart that we spoke and you will  call to schedule at a later time.

Me: (slight chuckle) Sounds good – thanks. By the way, what was my sugar and cholesterol.

Ann: Glucose – 86 ; Total Cholesterol – 184.  And your Triglycerides,  she pauses, dramatic sigh … are just beautiful.

Me: Ann, you’ve always loved my Triglycerides.

Ann: (slightly embarrassed, soft spoken) I know.

(background chatter)

 Ann: Hey, I have to take this.

Me: No problem, Ann. Thanks.

I hung up the phone smiling, appreciating the sweet ‘everythings’ Ann had just whispered in my ear. Pause -insert dramatic sigh. Remember, I’m fifty. I take whatever I can get.  Besides complimenting a 50 year old on their lipid profile is like telling a 25 year old he has a nice ass. Lucky for me, I have both.

How you doin?

Recently, I posted about conversation.  More importantly, my awkwardness with the subject … from time to time.  I’m not sure why, but communication AND personal interactions have become so much more strained than in years past.  To complicate the matter, sensitivity to the spoken word has increased.  Social media is often blamed for this trend, especially in the younger generations.  For me, that’s not the issue – remember no cell phone for this technology challenged dude.  I blame my profession, of course.  Countless books have been written on this subject.  So attempting to tackle this topic in a single post may be too ambitious.  Instead, I will focus on those ‘communication lines’  that root the Random Nonsensical Foundation of this blog- pharmacy and writing.

As previously stated, my goal in every customer interaction is to be effective and efficient.  Translation – I want the other person to go away as quickly as possible.  And, I’ve become very good at it, I might add.  Customers actually prefer my brevity. Knowing when NOT to ask questions is almost as important as the reverse.  Rarely, do I address anyone by name.  I know that may sound impersonal, but it’s best for all involved, especially me.  Once you call a person by their first name , things change.  That line has been crossed and there ain’t no going back.  Moreover, it adds expectations to every interaction going forward.  In retail, those expectations are hard to maintain. When they are not, indignation often results.  Indignation is such an ugly word, but very appropriate in this context.

With writing, it can be equally strained; sometimes even awkward.   After some twenty years in the authoring business, I’ve become very guarded with whom I share my writing passion. Don’t get me wrong,  I love to talk book and do so whenever appropriate.  However, I’ve also learned when to stop, walking that ‘line’ very carefully.   Please realize, this isn’t the case with established relationships. I’m talking about those casual conversations with acquaintances or friends of friends.  The topic of writing comes up, the words “I’d love to read what you written” are spoken – BAM – things change.  Reading a 400 page novel is a huge commitment – I get it.  But the other party won’t admit that fact.  A few pages get read, life happens  and … the reading stops and the book is forgotten.  Until they see you in pubic … .  Two words – awkward excuses.

At this point in my life, I expect little from anyone.   Still, I’m  baffled at what ramifications crossing ‘lines’ can actually cause.  I guess that’s why people write under pen names.  Anonymity has it’s advantages.  So I’ve heard.

I’ve reread, then rewritten this post numerous times, hoping to best convey my thoughts.  I think it worked – if not I apologize.

Yes, I’ve crossed the line more than I should’ve in all aspects of my interpersonal communication.  However, I’ve become quite resourceful at damage control.  Right now, things are … good.  Tomorrow.  Well, that’s another … line.

I Walk the Line – Clip/song

On March 11, my barber, let’s name him Fred for post purposes, whom I have been going to for some 14 years, had knee surgery.  Unfortunately, I did not plan accordingly from my last visit.  Now, I really needed a haircut.  Please understand, I am not that neurotic by only allowing one person to cut my hair.  I have so many other things to be concerned with – that is not one of them.  Besides, it’s hair.  It will grow.  And, there’s always gel.  Furthermore, I have ‘strayed’ before. However, this blog was not available then to highlight such… styling indiscretions.

Until now.

First, a few background barber ‘bits:

• I have a long face, therefore I need an appropriate cut.  If not, gel gets wasted and … .  It ain’t pretty.
• my hair grows faster on the left side of my head.  Truthfully, I’m just happy I have hair that does, in fact, still grow. Though the woman that told me this ‘bit inspired this post.  Hmm… .
• crew cuts are a very bad look for me
• never ask a bald man where to get a haircut*
• a few years ago, a styling indiscretion led to a ‘faux’ mullet.  Definitely, something I want to ‘faux’-get.  Luckily, Fred knows nothing about this … faux pas.
• Fred takes appointments, charges $17, and is quite the perfectionist.
• Lastly, I’s got me a new pair of Revo sunglasses. Cool.  The rims are a clear, charcoal tint.  Since my hair is darker brown the rims appear similarly hued. Very Cool.  I realize this has little to do hair, but it kinda does.  Regardless, sunglasses ARE important.

Now, I had a perfect opportunity to stray without guilt, I might add.  Unfortunately, life got in the way.  Fast-forward another week – I really, really needed a haircut.   Think Wolverine without the lamb chop sideburns.  And, those switchblade knuckle things, of course.  In desperation AND at the advice from a bald butcher named Jake*, I found a … solution.

A local barber shop downtown –

Walk in. Sit right down.  Clip here/clip there. Relief.  Her – attempts conversation. Me – Polite responses.  Cut here/cut there. sigh. Thank you, Jake. Her – more conversation.  Me – thwarted. Still polite, though. Fred never talks. Look in mirror – clean  and short on sides.  I’m good with it.  Snip here/snip … . Pause in mid-snip. Hmm… . Interaction with another stylist. Concerned . ‘New’ technique demonstrated ON MY HEAD.  Don’t panic.  Sneak look in mirror.  Still good with it.  Her – still attempting conversation. Really? Me – no longer polite. Thinning shears. DONE. Final mirror review.  Hair  damp.  But … good?

Arrive at gym.

Remove hat. Hair dry.  Fuck me! Forget ‘Wolverine’, I’m Carrottop.  Attempt workout.  No focus.  Ugly haircut. Shit. I am SO not good with this. Panic.  Options. Return to shop – could get ugly. No time. Work at 2pm. Options. Next week? Can’t wait.  I listened to a bald guy! Options. What about … ? Look in mirror.  I could do this.

Home.

Scissors. Bathroom. ONLY SOLUTION.  Garbage can in sink. Fuck the gel. Grab lock of hair. Cringe. CLIP. That was … cathartic. Cutting frenzy.  Looks good.  Another chunk. Better.  Last snip –

Best, worst haircut ever!

Barber Shop Quartet – Late Night Style