(I really dunno what happened with the font on this post, but I can't seem to fix it, so just bear with me, sorry)
I really am enjoying my new position, but it's not without it's share of insanity and stupidity on the part of customers, or as I should now refer to them, patients.
To the family who gave us all kinds of hell yesterday over a GI cocktail, just . . . just go. We told the first person who came to pick up the scripts that we could give him the inhaler, but not the cocktail, because that requires pre-approval before it can be filled. We faxed your doctor about the issue, they haven't faxed us back, so you need to take it up with them. You just assumed the attitude that we're all complete morons and asked us to 'give the prescription back' so you can take it somewhere else, and that you're never having anything filled at Volde-Mart again. Word to the not so wise, we can do without your business, we really can. Some people just aren't worth the hassle they create, whether they spend money with us or not. And good luck getting that cocktail filled at any other pharmacy, as it requires PRE-APPROVAL. No RPh in his or her right mind is going to fill it, no matter what establishment they work for, because they probably don't want to lose their job and go to prison. For the love of fuck, when you're having issues like this, call the store before showing up and save yourself the trip.
A woman came in Wednesday and we were running really behind, so naturally we didn't have her script ready. She was an older, larger woman, with her hair dyed shocking shades of red and black, and to show her Halloween spirit, she had a very convincing set of small horns on her head, along with eyeshadow to make Mimi Bobeck proud. She was getting madder by the minute as she waited and waited and waited to have her meds filled, and I was having the absolute worst time not laughing. Thank Eru things were quiet enough that I could leave the other cashier and take a lunch before I lost control of myself.
The Little Blue Pill
I've only worked four days in the Phunny Pharm and I've already seen three happy pill incidents. The first, a lady was picking up several scripts, and before I rang her up, she handed one back to me and asked if I could give her three pills instead of nine because they're so expensive. "It's Viagra", she explained. "Cialis didn't work so we're trying this now, and I don't want to buy nine of them if this doesn't work, either. Well, truthfully hon, I don't want ANY of these, but well . . . my husband." She at least had a really great sense of humor about the whole thing, and I called the manager over there so she could tell him. "Now, don't laugh," she said as he approached the counter. He promised not to, but by the time she had told him what she told me, adding "I'm 67 years old for goodness' sakes, I don't need this!" all three of us were chuckling. The pharmacist insisted to her that he was laughing with her, not at her. But damn if those suckers aren't expensive. about US$19 for a single pill. I know because I had a gentleman waiting in the store two hours for one last night. No idea why it took so long to fill a script for one pill, but he was also pretty good natured about it. He's a truck driver and only home once a month, you see, and it's the wife's birthday this weekend, you see, and oh dear, Shiny thinks you're a great guy, Mr Customer, but this is really more info than she needed. Still, nice fellow. And then I had another guy earlier in the week who got surlier and surlier the each time he asked if his stuff was ready and I had to tell him no. It was only when I finally rang him out that I noticed what the script was for. I actually feel pretty bad for these guys who no longer function correctly 'down there' as they age. While I don't have much experience in the sex department (ok ok, so I have none. Blah.), I like to think I have a fairly high drive for a woman and I'd hate to lose that. Gah.
I'm not the droid you're looking for!
Customer: "Did the insurance run through on this? How much did it take off?"
Me: "Oh, I'm really not sure, but you can step down and see lady or gentleman at the Drop Off window and one of them can--"
C: "You see I was with Blah Blah Insurance but we changed and now we're with Yadda Yadda, and I need to know which one went through."
Me: "Like I said, I don't have access to that info and can't really answer your insurance questions, but if you'll go and see--"
C: "Last time, something messed up and I wanna make sure that doesn't happen again and . . ."
When me and my siblings were smaller, and were being particularly ornery or not listening to our parents, but not enough to make them really mad, they'd grab us by the face, pull it really close to their own, and say "We have a lack of communication!" This is exactly what we have going on here, multiple times a day. It's really frustrating to have to communicate a complicated problem over and over because you're talking to the wrong person. I'm trying to save you this frustration by sending you down to one of the wonderful techs at drop off. I'm not being rude, I'm just a cashier and we're at the bottom of the totem pole back here, so to speak. My computer literally cannot pull up detailed insurance information so for the love of all that is good and decent PLEASE SHUT UP AND GO SEE MY COWORKER! *regains breath* This would happen up front, too, when I'd have to tell people multiple times to take their issue to the service desk as I couldn't fix it. If only I were a Jedi . . .
Then again, if I were a Jedi, I probably wouldn't be working at Volde-Mart or writing this blog.
*ring ring, tech picks up phone*
Tech: "Hey Raj (Raj is one of our Pharmacists), customer on the phone, she wants to know if we sell any detox meds."
Raj: *with a slight smile* "Depends. What's she wanting to clean out?"
Tech *checks with customer* "Marijuana."
Raj: *snerk* "No, no we don't."
Tech: "No ma'am, he says we don't have anything like that."
We all then looked at each other and laughed for a while.
All in all it was a good week, and the level of busyness back there reminds me of when I worked layaway during my first stint with the store.
I'm not doing well with the whole 'moving into the 21st century' thing at all. But then again, Pippin had his walls up again the past few days.
You cut me deep, Shrek. You cut me real deep just now. You know what I think? I think this whole wall thing is just a way to keep somebody out.
Maybe he's a little put off that I didn't take the bait when he kept asking me what my weekend schedule was. Can't say that I blame him, really, but I'm honestly that oblivious sometimes, and I'm still kicking myself for it. Not that he was being rude or anything, but he was definitely down about something. He's working for 9 days straight, because they like to screw with our schedules like that sometimes. He also still seems bummed that his kids won't do Halloween with him anymore because they're 'too old' now, and doubly put out that his 15 year old daughter is attending a Halloween party tonight. He pleaded with his ex to please know who these people were whose house she's going to, and make sure there would be adults there to watch the mob. "Because you know what you got up to when you were that age, and I don't want no grand-babies." He's beside himself with anxiety that his kids are going to make the same mistakes he and his ex did when they were young, the poor bastard, and it's not uncommon. And I do hope for his and his daughter's sakes that she's smart enough not to get knocked up until she's old enough and responsible enough. I compare Pippy to a hobbit, for obvious reasons. Good natured, cheeky smile, an all around impish appearance, and loverly blue eyes. Yet I'm often reminded of other lines from Shrek.He stinks? No. He makes me cry? (Uh, well, once. Finding out the person you fancy and get on well with committed first degree felony is fairly unsettling). But no.
No! Layers! Onions have layers. Orges have layers! Onions have layers. You get it? We both have layers.Ohhh, Pippin has layers.Ohh! You're so wrapped up in layers, onion boy, you're afraid of your own feelings.Buggering hell. Mom often reminds me that Pip has lots of baggage. You know, it's not even the criminal charge that really bothers her; as a matter of fact we both tend to think he was in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong person. I've looked up the penalties for doing what he was charged with and the stuff involved. He should be sitting in state prison for at least three years and paying fines out his rear for the rest of his life, but he ended up with a few days in county and a probation. A hand-slap punishment. But anyways, yes. Not that that bothers mother dearest. Her issue? His ex and his kids. Particularly the ex. I didn't really realize why she often reminded me of the baggage until recently. It's not that the ex is a jealous person who'll come after me and try to stab my eyes out, it's the damage she and her relationship with Pippy have already done. I just hope I'm not coming across as a stalker or Peppermint Patty or anything. I'd rather be the Little Red-Haired Girl to his Charlie Brown. We actually had a discussion about that the other day, because he was stocking the pumpkins and called me Charlie Brown. I told him I was the Little Red-Haired Girl, and he couldn't remember her at all. Easy to do, since she never really shows up, but still. I dropped him a note on FB last night just to say I hope he had a good day and that I felt bad he had such a long stretch of work, and to not let the pumpkins or the crazy old folks get to him. He never wants to see a pumpkin again, you see, and has nearly run over countless old folks this week with pallets of the things because they dart out in front of him and then stop like a deer in the headlights. He left a friendly thanks this morning, albeit filled with chat speak and no punctuation, but at least he responded. Although I was still kind of hoping he'd ask me to do something one of these nights or maybe do lunch. Pfft.I think I'm gonna get up and go to church tomorrow morning. I'll just go to the one that meets at the skating rink, it's a fairly decent place, as far as churches go. Then I may be pathetic and stop at Volde-Mart with the weak excuse that it's Halloween and Mom just realized now that we have no candy and we need candy. (Heh, *need* candy?). For us. We don't get trick-or-treaters out here in the sticks. And maybe a rotisserie chicken for lunch or something lame like that. Just so I can have the excuse to show him I dress like a girl every now and then? Ohmygawd that's horrible of me.But if not, he is, someone unfortunately for him, working all this week until Thursday, and I'm sure he'll have a few 12-9s like I do, and then I might be able to get him away from our colleagues and all to myself for that one wonderful little hour. Cooler than the flipside of my pillow, that's right . . . :-\I'm starting to wonder if I should just be forward and risk losing him as a friend, and wondering if he's worth keeping around as a friend if he'll cause me to constantly wish we were more, and I feel horrible about it.