Slip the Pills to Me, Jill*

Alternate Title:  One of the Pharmacists at My Pharmacy is a Fucking Moron

Before I go into the drama that occurred a few Saturdays ago, I’ll say that up until recently, I’ve really liked my pharmacy.  There are two pharmacists that I can recognize by sight – The Blonde One and The Brunette.  I do know their names, but for the sake of privacy, Blonde and Brunette it shall be.  Blonde has physically gone out of her way to help me in the past, bringing my medication to my home when she got off of work once.  Blonde is a total sweetheart.  Brunette, on the other hand…  Well, she was always polite, but that’s about it.

This time, Brunette has gone beyond rude.  She accused me of doing something extremely illegal, and not to my own face, but to my mom’s.

When I pick up my prescription at the doctor’s office, I don’t scrutinize it.  I look at it quickly and make sure that 1)  it’s mine, 2)  it’s for the right medication, 3)  it has the right date on it, and 4)  that the doctor remembered to sign it.  This prescription looked fine to me.  I did notice that the 5 in the number 15 (for the date) looked a tiny bit darker than the other numbers, but I didn’t think much of it and I assumed that nobody else would, either.  I dropped it off at the pharmacy without a second thought.

When mom went to pick up the filled prescription the next day, she immediately noticed that the “N” slot (my last name starts with N) was empty.  “Oh, shit.  Did they not fill it yet?” she thought.  One of the pharmacists saw her and she asked if they had filled it yet.  The pharmacists whispered back and forth, right in front of her, for a few moments before Brunette came to the counter with my medications, wearing a nasty look on her face.

“Was there a problem?” my mom asked.  Brunette, still holding my medications hostage, slid the prescription slip across the counter and pointed to the date, “That number 5 is darker than the other numbers.  We were suspicious that your daughter, or someone, tampered with or altered the prescription.”

Cue my mom getting REALLY freaking pissed.  She pointed to the prescription and, “See that 8?  It’s narrow and kind of looks like a 6.  Do you want to nitpick about that, too?  My daughter doesn’t even see well enough to do what you’re accusing her of doing.”

“Well, you’re right.  That 8 does look like a 6…” Brunette says nastily as she hands over my medications.

What the hell is wrong with people?!  Brunette is lucky she didn’t have to deal with me.  I’m not nice like my mom.

If she was so concerned with the date, she should have called my doctor’s office to confirm before filling it.

I would take my business elsewhere, but they are the only pharmacy in town.  I’m hoping this was just a one-time incident.  Otherwise, Brunette may find herself without a job.

NEWSFLASH:  Dearest Brunette, I do not like having to take this medication, or any medication.  I don’t like being in pain and having a condition that could kill me.  I also don’t know how to get the fuck over feeling guilty about having pain, especially so young.  And so far, no medical professional or authority figure has made me feel ok about any of this.  And my doctor is taking the medication away soon anyway, so you won’t have to deal with it anymore.

*Her name isn’t Jill.  I just parodied a line of an already very funny song.