.....all two regular readers of this blog (who have no doubt moved on long ago during my 9 month sabbatical) have no doubt of that. Every once in awhile though..... one will turn the tables on you and make you feel about an inch high.
The other day a man comes in....and through his broken English I can figure out he's asking for something for depression, because someone (not quite clear who) has died. I'm the only one manning the counter at the time, and like I've said, there's more than a bit of a language barrier, but I try to get through to the guy that there's pretty much nothing out there that's gonna be of any help. Now I've been at this awhile, and I've developed an ability to read people.......and I know this guy thought I was blowing him off. He leaves the counter and I have to dive back into the 2 phone calls and stack of prescriptions that have built up while we were(n't) talking. When I get caught up...maybe 15..... 20 minutes later...... who knows. I see him in the middle of the aisle in front of me, in a strange land, dealing with the loss of a friend or relative, desperately searching through the Tylenol Cold Formula and Robitussin looking for something to ease his mind, thinking the gringo behind the counter couldn't care less..........
.......I really....really hate this job sometimes.
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