Highlights From The Weekend's Pill Counting Action.

Friday started as a day of hope. Because as you have no doubt picked up on if you have spent much time at all here in my little blog garden, I am nothing if not a creature of hope. Perhaps as I slept, I thought to myself, a cure for everything had been developed, rendering me obsolete in the new state of health care nirvana the world now found itself in. True, I would be unemployed, but thanks to the cure for everything I could be assured that I would always have my health, plus I could sleep in. I decided I would take that deal, and I crossed my fingers. A guy's gotta have hope. 

Then I realized that even after the cure for everything was developed, my employer would still need someone at the back of the store to tell people where the bathroom is. I got out of bed and left for work. 

Fifteen minutes into the workday my keystone tech informed me there were no bags. In the pharmacy or in the backroom. This happens a lot. The fact we will need bags to put the purchases of each and every customer that buys something into seems to come as a complete surprise to the store's management each week. Perhaps they were expecting no customers for the next 7 days. That would explain their staffing level. I walked to the front of the store, where the only non-pharmacy employee on duty was manning the cash register. I stole his bags. Right in front of him. I took them all and did not apologize. On my way back to happy the pill room I held the bags over my head as if they were the head of a vanquished enemy. Later on I wondered what the store did to meet their entirely predictable bag needs. I never asked, and the store's management has learned not to bother me with trivial details like the fact I steal their supplies. 

As I entered the cure center, the day's first customer was having a lengthy discussion with my keystone tech about whether you could tell if he was a woman dressed up as a man. "There are places in San Francisco where you totally can't tell!" he made the point with great emphasis, and while I don't doubt this is true, I couldn't help but wonder why he seemed so anxious to talk about it. On a Friday morning. This is usually the subject matter for a Friday night. 

Then the same customer didn't want to touch the store's pen to sign his credit card slip because "it's diseased," leading me to believe he was still up late from the night before.  His type usually aren't early birds.

Later that day I waited on a mall security guard who requested easy open lids for his prescriptions. That made me feel more secure.  

Customer approaches with two bottles of Mylanta. "Which is stronger, Ultimate strength or Maximum strength?" I really couldn't blame the customer on this one. Turns out Ultimate trumps Maximum. Unless you have gas. 

Sometime Saturday a man approached the counter, again with two products, one an ointment and the other a cream, and asked, "One of these is creamy, right?"

"Yes, the other would be more like Vaseline" I said. 

"Well which one's creamy?"

Sometimes my friends, you will find yourself in situations dealing with the general public where you really don't want to be a smartass, but you have no choice. I didn't know how else to say it. 

"The one that says cream"

"OK, thanks a lot!" said the happy customer. Like I had just enlightened him on the principle of quantum mechanics. I went to college 5 years for that. I skipped a lot of class, but believe it or not, it never catches up with me most days. 

Also on Saturday a lady whose insurance claim rejected asked "Do you think it could have something to do with how I haven't paid my premium this month?" I said maybe. Didn't want to put any words in the insurance company's mouth. 

Maybe that actually happened on Sunday. Fuck, I can't remember anymore. 

Also on Saturday and/or maybe Sunday the fat lady who waddled up to the counter said she just couldn't understand why no pharmacist she had ever talked to recommended the Hydoxycut to lose weight. Seriously, she was well north of 300 pounds. I just weighed myself today and discovered I've dipped under 170. It made for such a great visual. Maybe I can steal the stores security camera footage the way I steal their bags and post it here for you. 

It was definitely Sunday when I had my frustrating conversation with the insurance company help desk wage slave who sounded like he was talking to me from Mumbai. Way too friendly to be an American this dude was. After mad investigation of an incredibly perplexing problem, Mr. Mumbai and I determined its source to be my employer's software. Meaning I would have to call my employer's computer help desk. My employer's computer help desk would be about as helpful at solving problems on a Sunday afternoon as my cat Spooky. "Ah shoot, I was afraid you were gonna say that" I semi-sighed. "Wish me luck."

"Very good luck on your quest Sir" said Mr Mumbai, and the weekend ended as it began, with a glimmer of hope. Not from me, but from halfway around the world. It certainly wasn't the cure for everything, but I decided I would take it. 

Because I am nothing if not a creature of hope.