Happy Holidays! From The Degenerates At Chateaus Bitchin'

Happy holidays to you and yours!  I hope the season finds you well, and that the past year has been a fruitful one.  It has certainly been a prosperous one here at Chateaus Bitchin'.  Here's a quick update on how all the housemates are doing.

Risk: Works all the time, even when at home.  His wine consumption rivals the local vineyard's tasting facilities, and 3 days ago he threw up on himself on his flight home from visiting the family.  Dignified!

Applephiliac: Still sleeps all the time, regardless of location.  Hates work and, well, life in general.  Still cruising the the black SS with the navigation, making the homeys say ho and the girlies wanna scream.

Don'tWorryAboutIt: Still drunk most of the time, working or not.  May or may not be wearing pants.  Still favoring inappropriately young women and old men.  'Works' from home every other week from the sectional, waking up whenever his work terminal beeps loud enough.

Spiffy: Working over night now, able to avoid most pharmacy patrons (score!).  Interests include video games, Templeton Rye and Three Sheets reruns.

Above photographed is Bruce.  He resides on the lawn beside the main entrance of the Chateaus.  Originally purchased as a Halloween decoration, he is clearly a festive Christmas decoration with the addition of the traditional St. Nicholas head dress.  Not only does he instill holiday spirit, he is also a clear symbol to Mormons and solicitors alike to 'stay the fuck away from this house'.

For anyone without New Years Eve plans, please proceed to the Chateaus where the beer will be flowing like wine.  We will all be kicking the old year in the ass like a rented mule.  Cheers!

Maddening Medicaid Massacre

There are a few universal truths in the pharmacy world.  Some apply to patients.  There is one that applies to pharmacy staff: we hate medicaid people.

Now, I know what you're thinking.  Why just pharmacy staff?  Why can't I hate medicaid people?  Good news, my friend.  You can!  After reading this, you will.  Well, you should.

Medicaid is a federally funded program that provides health care for people who cannot afford it by their own means.  If you make under X dollars annually (this differs per state) your entire medical bill will be paid for by Uncle Sam.  You all know where Uncle Sam gets his dough.

Sounds great, right?  If people can't afford health care, they should get some help from the government.  Right?  Many Americans believe that health care is a right.  Once you get a little exposure working within our health care system, you may start to think differently.  Come work in a pharmacy for a week.  I don't know many pharmacy people who feel that health care is a right.  You start to feel differently when you see the way people are spending your money, the way they are abusing the privilege of health care.

A perfect example of this abuse occurred last night in my pharmacy.  A night time regular came back to the pharmacy at about 1:45.  He had a friend with him that I'd never seen before.  Each of them had 4 prescriptions from the local emergency room.  All the scripts were for medication to treat breathing problems.

Ready for the kick in the nuts?  I am, because I get it every day I go to work.  My nuts are like hard, unfeeling wood by now.  Even if you don't think about things like this, you pay for it with every tax deduction from your precious little paycheck.

Both of these guys reeked like smoke.  The regular guy does every time he comes in.  I imagine him rolling around in a big fucking ashtray before he comes to the pharmacy.  You've smelled someone like that before.  Don't you wonder how they could possibly smell that bad?  I guess they smoke A LOT.  This is your first clue that he has medicaid.  They are usually a little stinky.

Here's a list of the medications he gets, every single month, to treat his breathing problems:

1. Mucinex: $31.49

2. Fluticasone: $68

3. Albuterol nebs: $17.59

4. Advair: $302

5. Combivent: $125

Total Cost: $544.08

So we're all clear, you're paying for that.  You and the rest of America that works, that is.  Medicaid patients usually have a copay ranging from 1$-3$, which as you can see compared to the overall medication cost is exactly jack shit.  Now, to smell as bad as this asshole does, he's probably smoking around 2 packs every day.  Let's say $3 per pack, so $180 per month.  He's paying $180 a month to kill himself, and you're paying $544 a month to keep him alive.  How do your nuts feel?  

Did I mention he visits the ER at least once a month for whatever reason?  I can tell you it's not emergent, because whenever he's in the pharmacy he's just hunky-fucking-dory.  Do you know why medicaid patients go to the ER so much?  Here's an idea.

1.  They've got shit-one to do.  They don't have jobs.  The bingo parlor is closed after hours.

2.  There's no difference in cost to them between an ER visit and a general practitioner visit, although the bill to us is 5-10 times higher for the ER.  I guess at the ER they don't have to make an appointment to fit their busy schedule.  That's convenient.

This is the problem with medicaid.  Anybody who's poor can get it.  You can stop down the pill room to get your $100/month cholesterol medication, then waddle to MacDonald's to see how many Big Macs you can squeeze in before Oprah.  Medicaid patients can shit out as many kids as they want, they'll be covered too.  Think there are any coverage restrictions based on how you've got the condition you need treated?  Think about the guy I started this post off with.

Think about this, America.  Better yet, impart the damage on yourself physically.  Every time you pay for a medicaid patients medication, it's a moral kick in the junk.  Why not make it a literal kick in the junk?  Next time you see a medicaid patient huffing on their ProAir or selling their Vicodin to your teenage child (score!), run up to the nearest person and have them kick you in the gonads.  It's already happening anyway.

Tom Cruise Needs Your Love

I haven't heard anyone else talking about this, but Jesus, it sure does seem like Tom Cruise is trying to pry his crazy little way back into the hearts of the American public.  Lord knows why.  Probably money.  A raging cocaine habit can be expensive, folks.

Over the last few days, I've been seeing trailers on TV for Scientology's (yeah, I'll dignify it with capitalization) best spokesman's newest film, Valkyrie.  I don't much care for the idiot box myself, but it's in front of me when I'm on the treadmill at the gym, so I watch.  Pretty moving colors are hard to look away from.

As you all know, Tom is one of the most well known American actors of our era.  As you also well know, over the last few years he's been starting to look crazier than a rat in a tin shit house.  A few fabulous examples come to mind.

1.  Tom goes on Oprah (Satan).  Tom assaults Oprah while jumping on her furniture.

2.  Tom calls Matt Lauer "glib" during an interview in 2005 where the two debate the relative merits of psychiatry and psychiatric pharmacotherapy.  Cruise states, "You don't know the history of psychiatry.  I do."

3.  Tom has an interview with David Letterman.  He cannot stop laughing at his own story.

Did I mention Tom Cruise is a scientologist?  If you're not already aware of how crazy those freaks are, please read the wiki on it.  

With all this bad press flying around about you, it must be awfully difficult to get a job.  No way, you're thinking.  People would go see a Tom Cruise movie even if all he was doing was mowing his lawn.  Wrong.  You've got to remember that the movie biz is a fickle one, and Mom isn't going to take her kids to the movie starring the crazy ass actor who just murdalized Oprah.  

So, Tom decides he needs a turnaround.  A new beginning.  A resurrection, so to speak.

From what I can derive from the trailer, the basic premise of Valkyrie is this:

Tom Cruise kills Hitler.

That's it.  But Jesus, how much more self righteous can this asshole get?  He might as just sit down in front of a camera and say:

America, I'm sorry.  I know I've been acting like a crazy asshole for the last few years.  Listen, you don't know what it's like to be a wealthy celebrity.  After so many years, parties with endless mountains of cocaine and strippers just isn't enough any more.  Moreover, limitless cash and public adoration start to seem bland after you've conned thousands of people into false religion and stolen them from their family and friends.  Trust me, I've done it.

Listen, I'm here to say that I now realize what I've done.  I was temporarily blinded by my status, and I realize that I owe you something in return.  So, here it is: I'm going to kill Hitler.  That's right, that big bad boogey man from WWII.  On December 25, I'm going to kill Hitler on the big screen in front of millions of Americans.  This will simultaneously reverse the Holocaust and be the best birthday present that Jesus ever received.  Do you love me again?

You've got to give it to him, it's pretty crafty.  What better way to curry favor with America than to kill the least popular villain in current history as a birthday present to Jesus?

Chateaus Bitchin' Chicanery

New study data was made available today following a press release at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology campus in Cambridge.  Over the last year, MIT professors from various departments have collaborated with faculty members of UMKC in Kansas City, Missouri.  The aim of the study was to determine the ideal amount of time a dish, glass, or eating utensil must sit in the sink of a local home, Chateaus Bitchin', before it could be transfered to the automatic dishwasher for proper cleaning.  

"Based on empirical data gathered over the first few months of study," stated prominent MIT mathematician Dr. Ken Hoffman,"we just assumed that the dirty glass had to sit in the sink at least a day or two before being transfered to the dishwasher.  We didn't understand why this was necessary at the time, we just assumed the study subjects knew something we didn't."

Researchers noted that a dirty glass would often be left in the sink, on the counter, or on a nearby table by one roommate, only to be transfered to the dishwasher days later by another roommate entirely.  The dish may sit out hours, 1 day, or even a week.  Sometimes large quantities would be left unattended, sometimes only a solitary glass..  

"These findings left us stymied." stated Dr. Wai-Yim Ching, professor of physics at UMKC.  "There seemed to be simply no correlation between the amount of dishes left out or how long they were left out.  At that time, we formulated a few hypothesis, isolated a few variables, and set up a few parallel studies.  We wanted answers."

The data released today shocked the scientific community, and has many leading minds in the field calling for answers.

Dr. Hoffman reported.  "It turns out there was no reason to leave the dishes sitting around before putting them in the washer.  This was not a necessary step in the cleaning process."  Amid jeers and frantic shouting from the press, Hoffman concluded, "It turns out some of the roommates at Chateaus Bitchin' are simply, well, fucking lazy."

After trying to reach members of Chateaus Bitchin' for comment, members of the press were only able extract partial answers from a cleaning crew that enters the domicile twice weekly.  "Peligroso!!!" cried one member of the cleaning crew.  "No entrar!  Que horror!!"

Outside Material Day!

I haven't watched SNL for some time now, but I may need to start carving out some time for it.

Ample Ambiguous Ambitions

This is proof that, when confronted with enough time, even someone as valuable as a health care professional will waste said time in fruitless pursuits.

Well, fruitless save for my personal enjoyment.  How many pharmacists do you know that could make a stack of vials that high?   Most of them are just too damn short.  The rest of them wouldn't appreciate a feat like this one in and of itself enough to actually attempt it.  I may need to create a new type of award for myself to recognize an achievement of this kind.  Or maybe I'll just reallocate some funds from the company till.  Either way.

In summary, I work for a company that will pay me do things like this for hours every night.  The same company will cut 10 technician hours some weeks to 'meet budget forecasts'.  The technicians make roughly 15% of what pharmacists do.  Those technician hours can make or break the busy times of day.  Those hours will get the 'patients' out the door faster and prevent the rest of the pharmacy from wanting to eat a bullet.  God bless Corpopharm.

Corpopharm Confessional Conspiracy

Here's two separate interactions from the last 2 evenings.  Neither are humorous.  They do present two very different exmaples of the human condition, which I find profoundly interesting.

Last night around 3 AM a guy came in with four scripts from the ER: one for Percocet, one each for two different strengths of MS Contin, and one for Xanax.  One day supply of each.  Any one who works in a pharmacy immediately knows what happened, or at least what he's told the ER doctor.  For some reason this guy had no access to his medication, whether it had been lost, stolen, whatever.  Today being Thanksgiving, he had no way to get a new Rx from his regular doctor.  Consequently he went to the ER to get scripts to get himself through the holiday.  Why go to all that trouble and expense for just one days worth of medication?

1) The man is a Medicaid beneficiary.  No expense exits when the taxpayers are footing the bill.  You don't know how often I tell people their copay is $0 and they respond, 'All right, it's free!'.  It's not free, you asshole, every 9-5 slob is paying for it via the gov'ment.

2) Opioid withdrawal is very unpleasant.  Benzodiazepine withdrawal can, in rare instances, be fatal.  Combine the two and you're having a real bad day.  The ER doc did not want that liability, hence, drugs!

I told him to give me a few minutes to get him fixed up.  He started counting out change on the counter.  This is not an uncommon occurrence.  At least once a week I see people scrounging up change to pay their Medicaid copays.  I don't feel bad about it because they pay such a minuscule fraction of what their medication actually costs.  My heart is cold and black.

After sending all the claims to Medicaid, the one for the Xanax would not process because the computer showed he'd gotten some recently and should have enough to last for two more weeks.  I asked him if he'd still like to get it and pay out of pocket.

Guy: No, man.  Can you call Medicaid?  I got robbed tonight!  I got the police report and everything.

I explained to him that I would normally do just that, but that Medicaid was not open during the middle of the night.  His only option would be to pay out of pocket or not get the drugs at all.  

Guy: Well, don't worry about that one.  Just fill the rest, and I'll figure something out.

I didn't ask what 'something' was.  I did ask about how he'd lost his medication.  The story was too crazy to be made up.

Guy:  Well, I just got back from deer hunting with some friends and had a few duffel bags of gear in my car.  My meds were in one of them.  I stopped over at my girls place to pick up her daughter.  When I pulled into a parking spot, a guy got into my car and put a gun in my face.  I told him that he would have to shoot me if he expected to take my ride.  Another guy started digging around in the back, and took a few bags.  The guy with the gun took my wallet, and then they both ran.  They were running in the street, so I took after them with my car.  I managed to hit one and knock him over.  I stopped and got my piece out of the door compartment...

Me:  You pulled a gun on him after you ran him over?

Guy: Fuck yeah, brother!  I was chambering a round and drawing down on him when the cops got there.  They saw me with the gun and freaked.  The guy got away, and they cuffed me up.

Me: Holy shit.  Would you really have shot him?

Guy: Are you kidding me?  Me and my crew got 8 deer yesterday.  What's one nigger on top of that?

For one of the few times in my pharmacy career, I was completely speechless.  I finally recovered and asked him if the cops got the guys who held him up.

Guy: They didn't believe me about any of it, they thought it was a drug deal gone bad.  I said to the cop, shit, you think I'm selling my narcotics to a black man?

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The other interaction was from the night before.  It was really more of a confession, and it came from a man who probably didn't give too many speeches.  He came back to the pharmacy with some Pepsi, a bag of chips and a jar of dip.  He came to the pharmacy because he wanted some cold medicine.  I got it and was in the process of ringing him up when he said,

Guy: I must'a gotten everything but the kitchen sink out there.

 

I just chuckled and told him about the coupon ladies who bring me cartloads of the refuse that resides on Corpopharm shelves.  I finished ringing everything up, and he said in the same tone as his first comment about his purchases:

Guy: I saw a man die last night over there in Fairfax.

He was in the act of sliding his credit card through the register.  I looked up at him, but nothing in his face registered what had just come out of his mouth.  It was like he'd just told me that it was cold outside or that he was off to work for the day.

Me: (long pause) Whoa.

Guy: I think he had a heart attack.  It was the most brutal goddamn thing I've ever seen.  There was two girls there with him at the time, and hell, they was trying to revive him.  They started CPR, and you could tell he was already dead.  When they was pumpin' on him, he wasn't resisting or anything.  He just kind of flopped around while they worked on him.  They called the professionals, but by the time they got there, shit, he was gone.  I never seen anything like that in all my life.  I went home and balled like a baby.  I never done that before.

I was completely caught off guard by what he'd told me.  I wear thick armor at work, but from time to time you get exposed to things that you're just not prepared for.  I guess I get so used to people acting like animals that I forget they're all human.  That's why I responded to him the way I did.

Me: Are you all right?

Guy: I reckon.  Shit happens, I s'pose.

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Tonight is my last shift of 23 straight days.  I'm supposed to go home to visit the family on Friday, and then go see Superpharm.  I miss them all terribly, but I might just crawl into my closet with a bottle of hooch and hide instead.  I don't know if I can handle people right now.

Corpopharm Cancer Crisis

These are Christmas lights: pharmacy style!  My pharmacy is so nuts during the day time, I find it hard to believe they had time for such niceties.  See those green things behind them?  Corpopharm does a fund raiser twice a year to make it look like they give a shit about the little man.  This particular one donates funds to cancer research for children.  The registers promt the tech to ask if people would like to donate 1$ USD to the charity.  If they do, the tech gives them one of the green things and asks them to sign it so they can be recognized.

One day, I happened to be ringing up a patient while a Corpopharm manager was in the vicinity of the pharmacy.  He noticed that I wasn't asking people for the donation and prompted me about it.

Spiffy: I don't solicit people.  It's a personal policy.

Manager: You know what it's for, right?  Cancer.  In children.

He really stressed the children part, as if that somehow made it different than cancer in any other age group.

Spiffy: Do you know how much birth control I dispense every day?

Manager: Huh?

Spiffy: Every day I fill at least 10 scripts for birth control.  That means I fill at least 3650 every year.  And that's just my pharmacy.  Across America, pharmacists fill hundreds of thousands birth control scripts every year.  Do you know now much pregnancy that prevents, Manager?

Manager: Umm...

Spiffy:  Of course, no pregnancy, no children.  By dispensing all that birth control, pharmacists prevent thousands and thousands of new babies every year.  Not as many as I would like, but you've got to start somewhere.  That also means that simply by virtue of doing our job, pharmacists prevent hundreds of cancer cases in children every year.  They don't even have a chance of getting it.  Cancer, I mean.

Manager: Uhhhhh.......
Spiffy:  Yeah, I'm doing so much already.

After that, no members of management/corporate asked me why I wasn't hustling their customers.

Raunchy Restroom Regalia

I keep reminding myself that I'm almost done, that I don't normally work every day.  Friday, the sun will rise, and I will not go to Corpopharm that night

A lady came to the pharmacy with and interesting question last night.  

Lady: Who's in charge of the bathroom?

Some background for you.  At my Corpopharm, there are not restrooms for public use.  They are in back, behind a locked door, with the store manager's office and break room.  This is all located directly behind the pharmacy.  

This is a true universal contradiction, both very bad and very good at the same time.  Very good because the hordes of dirty, ignorant rednecks that populate my city have no access to them, ie, the cleanest bathrooms you've ever seen in a Corpopharm.  You don't even need to project vomit immediately upon entering.  Very bad because every ten minutes, some asshole comes to the pharmacy and says,

Where's the bathroom?

Now, normally I just tell people we don't have one.  This is essentially true, in that we don't have a restroom for public use.  When I'm at work, I'm pretty much a big asshole.  I don't believe that just because you have to urinate when you happen to be in the amusing little hell that is Corpopharm that Corpopharm must provide you with a place to do it.  For that matter, maybe you'll get the hell out a little faster if you've got a full bladder and your choice is to argue with me about coupons for another 10 minutes or piss your pants.

My source of ire comes from the fact that since the pharmacy is located so close to the water closet that those who know it's back there expect me to let them in.  This usually comes right after they hand me their ER script at 3 AM that they need so badly.  Now you've just asked your pharmacist to play bathroom attendant.  I don't think you know how insulting that is.  People usually don't understand that I can either fill a prescription (which no one else can do for you) or walk you to the bathroom so you can make lemonade.  I can't do both simultaneously.  And by the way, what do you think that register clerk is there for, good looks?  She doesn't even have all her teeth.

I have to admit that she caught me off guard with her question.  It may have been the sneaky bitches intent, now that I think about it.  Since my standard answer didn't apply, I said the first thing that came to mind.

Spiffy: In charge?  It sure isn't me.

I went back to work, and she just stood there for a while.  A few minutes later, I heard the register clerk up front page,

Pharmacy, code 10.

I turned to my tech and asked him what code 10 meant.  He replied that it meant someone needed to be let into the restroom.  I died a little inside and went back to explaining to the lady on the phone that she didn't get to change the dose of her antidepressant because she wanted it to be the same as her friend's dose.  I love people.

Corpopharm Conscience Clarity

There are 3 people in my Corpopharm over the span of the night from 10 pm until 8 am.  A pharmacist, a register clerk at the front, and a night manager.  This is usually more than enough people to stock the shelves, keep the drunks from stealing liquor, and of course fill the occasional prescription.  

Last night I got to talking with the night manager Stan.  He's a pretty quiet guy (and I'm not exactly conversational with people I don't know that well) so we haven't really exchanged much other than general pleasantries and small talk.  I'm currently in the middle of a long work jag since my partner is out of the country for a few weeks.  Stan wanted to know how I was holding up.  

Compared to days, nights in the pharmacy are a cake walk.  Changing from days to nights for me was like struggling to stay alive in the majors and then getting sent back to little league.  No competition.  I told Stan that things were fine and dandy like sour candy, but admitted that I would be ready for a little siesta when my partner came back.

Stan said he understood.  He said that he'd been in my shoes before, but that once he got into the rhythm of going in to work every night, it wasn't so bad. 

Me: Oh yeah?  What's the longest stretch you've worked?

Stan: Oh, gosh, I guess it was about four months.

Me: Wait, sorry?

Four months.  FOUR, with not a single day off.  Stan explained that about 13 years ago, another Corpopharm employee (his night counterpart) quit unexpectedly, leaving him as the only night manager.  At the same time, he was going through a divorce and naturally was in need of more income.  He said that Corpopharm was willing to give him the overtime so he just kept working to pay for the divorce.  

Me: Good lord!  How did you keep from going crazy?

Stan: Well, I felt pretty lucky to get the extra cash.  I just tried not to think about how long I was working for.  I put my head down and pushed forward.  It was the only way to do it, really.  There were a few nights, though...

He trailed off and a distant look grew in his eyes.  It only stayed there for a second or two, but you could tell he was remembering how awful it got for him.  Imagine how you would feel after 120 consecutive days (at 12 hours a day) in a retail store.  There are limits to what the human psyche can bear.  

                                                        ...well, you know how it goes.  After so long, it did start to get to me.  That's why I only did that for a few years.

My mouth dropped open further.  I probably looked like I was waiting for the dentist, not the rest of his story.  He went on to explain that he worked at Corpopharm every day for the next few years, with a day off here and there when day shift people would relieve him.  After the divorce, he had child support payments to keep up with, so he worked as much as Corpopharm would allow.  And after that few years?  I expected him to say that he went back to the normal 40 hour work week.  Wrong.  Stan said that after 4 years of nonstop Corpopharm pleasure, he started get a little weary of being in the store that much.  So, instead of just cutting back, he got a second job. 

As of now, he splits his time between Corpopharm and a local school district where he works a few days a week.  He works 80-90 hours each week.  Three days a week, he gets only three hours of sleep.

Stan: Those are the hardest days.  I do get a little tired sometimes.

Me: Stan... how do you do it?

Stan: Well, I wanted to be able to support my kids and still have some money for myself.  I didn't want to have to do without anything or not be able to afford the things I enjoy.  I want to have a life for myself, too.  Yeah, I wish my marriage had worked out better.  I think a lot of guys do yard work just to get a break from their wives.  Maybe there were some days when I should have stayed out in the yard a little bit longer.  Let me tell you something: if you get married, don't have kids and get divorced. 

Then he smiled.  It wasn't a bitter smile, either.  It was a happy smile.  He'd just given me some information that he had learned the hard way, and he was glad to do it.  There aren't many times that I talk to Stan that he doesn't smile like that.  I guess working as hard as he does, as many hours of the day as not, leaves you with a clear conscience and an easy demeanor.  If you work that hard, you can afford to smile like that.

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A phone call.

Caller: Is my prescription ready yet?

I waited.  And waited.  I was waiting for it to sink in that I needed something, anything, to identify this person.  Apparently, the person on the phone thought I knew them.  Or that I'm psychic.

Me: Your prescription (I wanted to have some fun)?

Caller: Yes, my prescription (a little impatient now)!

Me: Oh, right!  Well, let's see (I bang on the keyboard loud enough that hopefully the caller can hear the clatter of the keyboard).  Well, I do have some prescriptions ready.

Silence.

Me: Sir, I don't know who you are.

Caller: Oh!

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A man comes in to get a refill. I submit the claim to his insurance company.  The man's wife gets a three month supply of medication at a time.  The insurance company says it's a month too soon.  I check our records, and it is indeed a month early.

Me: Sir, do you still have some medicine at home?  You should still have a month left.

Man: No, we're out already.  My wife and my dog take the same thing, so I just give him some of hers when he needs it.

Insert your own joke.

Corpopharm Curiosity

Last night was an interesting night.  Sometimes I write down all the strange things that happen at work in the span of a shift.  It's pretty amazing how attenuated you become to the peculiar behaviors of people.  After a certain amount of exposure, you get so numb that things don't seem very remarkable at all until you put them in a different perspective.

1.  One of the first people I filled a script for asked me how much the medication would cost.  It's quite often that people hand me a prescription and ask, within a few seconds, 'How much will that cost?' like I know right off the top of my head.  I told her I would have to put the scripts into the computer before I could give her a price.  One was for amoxicillin, the other was for a cough suppressant.  I told her the price.  She responded with, 'Is that for the actual medicine?'

'Haha, of course not!' I replied, throwing up the facade directly behind me, exposing the shelves of actual medicine.  'You're the first person to ask for the actual medicine!  I've been giving the rest of those dolts sugar pills.  The joke is on them, my dear!'

I ran out from behind the counter and we danced a lively jig together.  Then we went unicorn hunting... with God.

2.  Shortly thereafter, Xanaxguy showed up.  Xanaxguy tries to get early refills on his Xanax every month.  Actually, it's more like every 3 weeks because he is always trying to get it filled before he's supposed to be out of it.  He calls in requesting a refill roughly ten times every day, I am not exaggerating.  You see, junkies think that if they can find someone at the pharmacy that doesn't know them, they can get their dope whenever they want it.  I think that they're so stoned they forget that the pharmacists, who all know who they are, have to check the script before it leaves.  

He was picking up a script for his son.  He had called in the refill for his son's medication and his Xanax at the same time... when I was on duty the night previously.  I had promptly cancelled the Xanax refill.  He didn't have the guts to ask about his Xanax, and I cherished the look of disappointment on his face.  He was also buying a large plastic dump truck.  Yes, for some reason Corpopharm sells some toys.  Lord knows how lucative the toy market is.  I had a sudden mad urge to grab a bottle of Xanax and dump it into the back of the toy dump truck.  I wanted to see his eyes widen as the pile of pills grew higher.  I didn't do it.

3.  As soon as I got to work, all I wanted to do was eat my tacos.  I had inadvertently slept all day, thus had no time to eat before work.  I grabbed some Taco Bell and arrived a few minutes early so I could inhale my soft shells.  As soon as I arrived, one of my techs had a funny story.

Some lady came to the drive through.  As the story went, she was being rather rude.  She demanded to know exactly how long her presciptions would take to fill.  My technician gave her an estimate of time and asked her to come back.  Suddenly, her attitude improved significantly.  Apparently, her car would not start and she wondered if he would not mind pushing her out of the drive through and giving her a jump start, pretty please please?

4.  Two of my favorite women, Superpharm and TheSister, called me on the doctor line.  I'd rather hear from them than any doctor.

5.  A lady came in with an Rx from the local poor hospital.  Poor hospitals are defined as hospitals which treat patients that have no means to pay for their own care.  These hospitals provide adequate care, but lack certain other attributes.  She had a script for 10 Vicodin.  Whoop-de-do.  I never make conversation, but she started in regardless of my stony face.  

PoorVicodin: 'Do you have anything for tooth pain...' I start thinking Orajel-Anbesol... 'because I lost my top denture, and the bottom one is rubbing on my gums.'

Wait.  Wait just a god damned minute.  How do you lose your top denture, but not the bottom one?  Did she lend it to a mean spirited friend?  Did she get in a spitting competition on the edge of a deep sea?  Did she get an unexpected visit from the evil tooth fairy?  Maybe she drove around town with her head hanging out the window like a dog, cheeks flapping in the wind with an air of gay frivolity.  She actually said that she lost one denture but not the other with a straight face, like that kind of thing happened every day.  

6. A guy came to the pharmacy for a consult on cock rings.  Yes, apparently Corpopharm sells cock rings.  Vibrating cock rings.  They are right next to the condoms.  He came to me because he was concerned that his dick was too big and that he would injure himself by using it.  He said that he was willing to try because it was his girlfriend's birthday, and he wanted to make her happy.  In the course of the conversation, he noted that he was from Michigan, and that he didn't much care for Missourians.  I'd have to say that I agree with him.

7.  I got home at 7:15 and deposited 65 doses of flu vaccine into my keg refrigerator.  They're right next to a keg of Bud Light and underneath a six pack of Summit ale.  When I picked up the keg, they said, 'Oh, you again?'.  Applephiliac got the Summit as part of a love offering from some sick fiend in Minneapolis.  The flu vaccine is going to a clinic that another Corpopharmacist is doing next week.  I wonder how all those patients would feel about about that vaccine sitting in a refrigerator that has caused so much vomiting.  This is my life.

I Am The Healthiest Man Alive

Just got some blood work back from the doctor.  I went last month for the first time in about 5 years because my head felt like it was going to explode and my blood pressure was tad high.  It had been a bad week at work.  The results are in:

HDL: 75

LDL: 60

Trigs: 66

AST: 20

ALT: 21

Average pulse and BP (cumulative): 60 and 125/82

What these mean in a nutshell is that I will never have cardiovascular disease and that my liver has taken all the punishment I've thrown at it over the years with jolly good cheer.  Also, my heart is the size of a small imported car (but in a good way).  With that, where's my whiskey?

Fraudulent Fentanyl Fiasco

And last night may have been boring.  Sometimes I'm glad for all the smackheads in my neighborhood.

Fakescriptguy showed up again last night.  He's been in twice in the last month, and I promised myself that I was going to do something about it the next time he showed up.  The last two times he came in he came with fake scripts for CIIs (the good shit).  Anybody that brings in something I suspect to be fake gets the same treatment.  I tell them that I have to call their doctor and check with them about whatever before I fill the script.  They usually take the script, give some bullshit excuse, and never come back.  Fine.  This asshole keeps coming back, and it is testing my patience.  Trying something that dumb multiple times means that a) you are indeed that dumb, or b) you have a substance abuse problem that causes you to do dumb things to obtain drugs.  Neither of these is forgivable.

I was on the phone with Superpharm when I saw him walking toward the pharmacy.  It was about midnight and nothing else was going on.  I got excited.

Me: Shit!  Fakescriptguy is here!  He was just here last week!

Superpharm: Really?

Me: I'll call you back.

I grabbed my notebook.  The local police station is only 2 blocks away and I have a number that will take me directly to dispatch.  They love crackheads just as much as I do.

Fakescriptguy: Hi! I need to buy some needles.  I need BD 1/2 cc short needles.

Apparently Fakescriptguy thinks that being able to tell me what kind of syringes you want gets me to open the door of the pharmacy. 

Me: Do you have a prescription for syringes or insulin?

Fakescriptguy: No.  I thought you didn't need one.  I know what kind of insulin my friend uses...

It's always 'my friend'.  In case you didn't know, diabetics are unable to buy syringes for themselves, and must always send a friend to get them.  Such a terrible affliction.

Me: I don't sell them unless you've got a script on file for insulin. 

Fakescriptguy: OK, I'll go see if they've got one.

He left, and I have to admit I felt a bit cheated.  Apparently he'd already obtained narcotics elsewhere and now just needed needles.  I was wallowing in self pity when I saw a cop wandering around in the store.  I decided to get some legal advice.

I hailed the cop and talked with her for a few minutes.  I showed her some copies of the fake scripts from previous episodes, explained the situation, and asked if she could arrest this asshole for me.  I told her I could get cooperation from the doctor he was forging, show her video of him at the pharmacy, get them fake scripts that he'd filled previously, etc.  

Cop: No problem.  Next time he comes in with a fake, just stall him out and call us.  We'll bring down the drug dogs and show him what a set of cuffs feels like, if he doesn't know already.

It's time for some pharmacy justice, bitches.

Saturday Stupidity

A phone call.

Caller: Can you tell me what atenolol looks like?

Me: Uh, there's lots of different manufacturers that make that.  What's your name? (checking computer)  I don't see you in our computer.  Did you get them here?

Caller: No, I got them at Wal Mart.

Me: OK.  If you get all your pills and tell me what they look like, I can tell you which one is atenolol.

Caller: I think I took the last one.  What does Wal Mart's look like?

Me: (pause) Sorry?

Caller.  What does Wal Mart's atenolol look like?

Me: How would I know?

That's right, the person just asked me what kind of pills Wal Mart has.  Just so we're clear, I don't work for Wal Mart.  I don't even go to Wal Mart.  The last time I was there of my own volition was years ago.

This sort of thing happens more commonly than you would like to think.  People sometimes expect me to 'check in my computer' to see if any other Corpopharm has their medication in stock.  Half the time the computer at my pharmacy doesn't even know what the hell we have in stock.  Ask me what drugs I have, I'll tell you.  Ask me what a different pharmacy has and I'll tell you where to go.

And another thing: quit fucking asking me where shit in the store is located.  Here's some food for thought.  Look in the pharmacy.  Notice everybody wearing white coats?  Now, look throughout the front store.  See any white coats? No?  What does that tell you?  The only time you're going to see a white coat any where but the pharmacy is because they're showing your dumb ass where the tampons are because you're too fucking stupid to read the signs over the aisles.  I'm done.

Frantic Friday Formulary

Last night, the pharmacy administered to me a rather stern rogering that I haven't been exposed to since my career as a day pharmacist.  It's moments like that that make me realize... *gasp*... that I really enjoy and appreciate my new job.

I got work at 9 PM per usual for Friday.  The pharmacist on duty was the PIC, who happens to be a very good one.  She's a great PIC while at the same time is focused on adhereing to Corpopharm's business practices and values.  I can't comprehend it, as I used to try to destroy Corpopharm initiatives with every breath I took.

PIC informed me that the tech scheduled to work late with me was absent because his girlfriend was in labor.  Understandable.  This meant that from 9 PM to 7 AM I would be flying solo.  Most nights this would not be problematic.  Last night, it was.

The following onslaught consisted of ER discharges, regular refills, and insurance problems that compounded into the biggest clusterfuck I've ever experienced in the pharmacy.  Here's a few examples:

1.  9:45 PM.  Lady has an ER script for 20 Darvocet (most useless pain reliever ever, but a huge pink pill, so fun!) and 'Cane'.  That was all the script said, 'cane' as in walking aid.  I had the Darvocet filled in 5 minutes but she took 20 picking out the most appropriate leopard pattern for her walking stick.  Corpopharm has everything from leopard spots to camouflage.  Believe it.

2.  10 PM.  Guy needs refill on his albuterol inhaler, which is out of refills.  He argues with me for 10 minutes about whether or not refills actually exist.  This fact is not debatable, regardless of your oratory skill.  There are three people waiting to drop off new scripts to fill and two waiting to pick up filled scripts behind him.  One lady waits at drive though, alternating between horn honks and pushing the call button.  I eventually tell the guy I'll give him an inhaler if he'll leave peacefully.  Nobody wins.

3.  10:05 PM.  The next guy at drop off has a fake script for oxycodone.  This is a felony. I laugh at him.

4: 10:15 PM.  I start ringing up a person's script only to realize it was done incorrectly about 5 different ways.  I have to spend ten minutes explaining the problems to them that would not have arisen had I been pharmacist to verify the scripts initially.  I make a mental note to murder my new partners.

5.  10:30 PM.  Mom shows up with sick baby and needs scripts NOW@@!!@@#$$  One of them is a drug that has to be compounded, which takes a long time at Corpopharm where we mostly count by 5.  She graciously states she'll give me 15 minutes to get them done.  I inform her that her expectations are both optimistic and groundless.  She is not pleased.  

6.  10:35 PM.  I play 'Optimistic' by Radiohead on my Ipod dock and savor the irony.

7: 10:45 PM.  Dad shows up with a compound for his baby's diaper rash that he also needs NOW.  You can see where this all is going.

Now, all these events by themselves may not seem too fearsome, but picture each one with about 3 other people waiting for me to make them happy instantly and you can see the problem.

I was so shell shocked that I even called Superpharm at midnight because I needed a shoulder to cry on.  Tonight had better go more smoothly or I'm burning that motherfucker down.

Suffrage Sanity

Now, these are only rumors.  I realize that everything you see in the media must be taken with a cart of salt, but the mere fact that these rumors are circulating the news is pretty damn shocking.  The following has allegedly originated from campaign aides to the republican party concerning the vice presidential candidate Sarah Palin:

1.  She did not know Africa was a continent.  She thought it was a country.  One big damn country.

2.  She didn't know what countries were part of NAFTA.  The NORTH AMERICAN Free Trade Agreement.

There were also reports stating she spent ridiculous amounts of republican party funds on clothing for herself and her husband, but whatever.  We all know how women love to drop loads of cash on useless items like clothing, jewelry, and formula for their babies.

So how about that?  This is where the political system has ended up in the greatest country in the world.  A party will do anything to get itself into the White House, up to and including picking a VP candidate who apparently doesn't know her ass from her Saks Fifth Avenue bill.

The scariest part is that it nearly happened.  No wait, the scariest part is that she's still probably more intelligent that GW, if a bit more ignorant of global affairs.  I'm going to go shoot myself in the face repeatedly.

Corpopharm: It Gets Ya Drunk!!!!

All other hypocrycies aside, I've got to hand it to

 Corpopharm on this one.  They're certainly not trying to hide that they're out to make a buck off of booze sales.  I saw this sign on the door as I walked in last night:

And what's this as soon as you walk in the door?

Why, it's huge fucking pile of basement bathtub vodka!  Cheery good time!  Not only can you come to Corpopharm to get your heart medication, you can also come to get retarded!  I wouldn't have it any other way.

Little boy: Mommy, why do we have to go to the pharmacy?  It's boring and that mean old pharmacist...

Mom: Quiet honey, Mommy needs her Zoloft.  If you're good maybe we can get you a...

Little Boy: Mommy?  Get what? Mom-...

Mommy: Well, hello (picks up a bottle of ghetto swill vodka). 

Little Boy: Mommy, what about your medicine?

Mommy: Quiet honey, Mommy needs to get her swerve on.  Do you have a friend you can stay with tonight?

Compound Calamity

This is an open letter to any pharmacist or physician who reads this site.  I know nobody reads it, but I'm writing anyway in hopes of saving the world from tyrany and Paris Hilton.  Forever and ever amen.

Last night I got a script for bum balm.  Bum balm is a preparation used for diaper rash.  Bum balm is not a legend drug, i.e., it is not produced by any drug company and must be mixed up by the pharmacist at the pharmacy.  This is no problem.  I love compounding medication.  It does not involve talking to insurance companies, doctors, or patients.  It involves me rolling up my sleeves and putting my education to good use.  Sometimes, it even involves me using a mortar and pestle (!).  During long nights with nothing else to do, it provides a welcome distraction and makes me feel useful.

The problem arises any time I get a script like the above mentioned.  As bum balm is not a patented drug owned and produced according to one recipe, it can be made many different ways.  In my short career as a pill pusher, I've seen at least 4 different recipes for it.  The prescription merely read, 'Bum Balm, 1 tube, apply to affected area TID'.  The doctor may as well have written, 'give them sum kewl a$$ cream LOL'.  The distressed dad that gave me the script needed it NOW, TONIGHT but I wasn't able to give it to him.  

My question is, do some pharmacists fill this type of script on a regular basis, taking it for granted that they know what formulation the doctor wants?  I can only assume that some do, because I get this type of bullshit often enough to believe that some of these docs aren't getting called on it the majority of the time.  Do some pharmacists just not give a shit and make it for whichever formulation they use most often?  My problem with this is that I'm not willing to assume any liability on the doctor's behalf.  I'm not compounding a special medication unless I have explicit directions on what ingredients to use.

So, I faxed the script back to the doc this morning with a real smart-ass note attached.  In so many words it read, 'hey asshole, how about doing your job instead of being a slothful quack.'  Seeing as it's the weekend, I'm sure they will respond promptly.  The patient is failed once again.  I don't know if that gives me grim satisfaction or just bores my tits off.

Hip Hop Translated

For all you hip-hoppers out there...

...and this video is the untranslated version, if you speak jive.

Somebody Understands Spiffy

I hate to say it, but I usually judge the pharmacy patron before I speak with them. Even worse, I'm usually correct in my assumptions. I'm not saying I endorse stereotyping. After interacting with people often enough, you get to know the type. The person the hands you the script that smells like they tried to smoke it is typically a member of a lower economic echelon. The lady with the perm that just a bit too fresh probably has a million coupons, and she's waiting for you to make a mistake. The person that see's the pharmacy and stares blankly from pick up, to drop off, to consultation may not have ever filled a script before. The disheveled guy with the glassy eyes coming toward the pharmacy with an exaggerated limp and elaborate story is probably bringing in a fake script or maybe one obtained dishonestly. The person who brings in the ER script so fresh it's still warm from the printer just wants to get the magic pill that will make them well again.

Last night, I was puzzled. The guy that approached the counter was mid 30s, bald, and wearing overalls. He was roughly 6'4", 250 lbs by my estimate. His name was in woven cursive script over his heart underneath a Ford emblem. As big as he was it took me a bit to notice him because I was engrossed in Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged (heavy reading for me). He didn't shuffle his papers, rap on the counter or cough to get my attention. He just waited patiently until I noticed him standing there. This automatically got him up to the B+ region of the patient grading scale.

I approached the counter and checked out the script, asking him if he wanted to wait for it. He said he would. He proceeded to ask where the condoms were. This bumped him up to an A-. Most people are too embarrassed to ask about the rubbers.

I got the script ready and paged him over the intercom. He returned to the pharmacy shortly with the condoms (magnums) to get his script. He looked around, seeming to take in the surroundings and said,

Guy: Man, I bet this shift is the shit.
Me: Yeah, I love it. As you saw earlier, I spend a lot of time reading. No stress.
Guy: Yeah. No people at night, don't have to put up with a lot of bullshit from all the crowds.
Me (pause): Yeah! That's just it. How did you know?
Guy: Aw, man, I been here during the day. All types a shit goin' on. Seems like a lot of hassle. Fuck that. Here at night, you can do your own thing.
Me: Exactly. I couldn't have put it better myself.
Guy: Truth. Keep it real, man.

He walked away and I just stood there mystified. Talking to the pharmacist like a real person instead of a register jockey almost always gets you an A+. I hope he comes back sometime.

Xanax Terror

Human behavior is clearly conditioned by experience. You wake up some days thinking boy, I've got problems. These problems may consume you for days, weeks, months. They cloud your thoughts and pervade every waking hour. Sometimes dreams as well. Then, by chance, you experience first hand the problem of someone else, and yours pales in comparison. Experience lends perspective.
-Anonymous

There's a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza.
-Harry Belafonte

It was my weekend to work. Quite clearly I survived. Saturday was a day beyond comprehension. I'm not quite sure where to start, so the knee-slapper is probably most appropriate.

She approached the pharmacy in a gait that could be most aptly described as 'drug-induced stagger'. Her arm was supported by a sling and her moo-moo was fluorescent pink and orange...tie dyed. She bore a large scar on her left eyelid that read domestic dispute to me but could just as easily have come from anywhere. She was disheveled in that a just-so way that would have been cute had she not been a dope-fiend.

Lady: Hi! Hey! I need this filled and I gotta pay cash cause my dad well he dint think I needed my Xanax and well he just poured it down the drain.

The lady was clearly intoxicated. She spoke in the runaway train method that facilitated making her thoughts known before she forgot what she was trying to say. I couldn't smell what she had been drinking across the counter and didn't want to get close enough to detect it. I told her that I would have her medication ready as soon as possible. This situation was a difficult one and I performed a risk-benefit analysis in my head before I realized I was doing it:

1. This bitch is trashed. If I give her more Xanax, I'll be sponsoring a drug binge and inflicting unknown damage upon herself/family/innocent bystanders.

2. This bitch is trashed. I need to get her out of the pharmacy as quickly as possible. My technicians aren't paid well enough to deal with junkies, and none of the other pharmacy patrons deserve to experience this lady.

Working in the trenches long enough conditions you to default to damage control nine times out of ten. The decision came quickly and with little consideration.

Me (briskly): OK! Give me 10 minutes and I'll get you fixed up.
Lady: Ok but hey it's only 2 pills and I need it my dad's got cancer you know...
Me (interrupting): Sit down. This won't take long.

The script was a laugh in itself. It was written by and ER doc for two pills. Two. I imagined the scene in an instant: this moo-moo clad banshee shambling around the ER, screaming about cancer and toilets and the doctor thinking: just a few pills. Get her out of here. Damage control.

I got the script ready very quickly and proceeded to the register. The lady did not have any insurance, so she was subjected to Corpopharm's minimum dispensing fee. If you don't have insurance at Corpopharm, you must always pay at least the dispensing fee, whether you get 1 pill or 100. Some people don't see any value in this, becuase they fail to understand that they're not merely paying for their precious pills, but for my salary, the bottle, the light bill, blah blah blah. I knew as I approached the register that my new friend would fail to see the value in my service.

Lady: $10.99 for 2 pills?!? What the fuck is this!?!

I may as well have slapped her as told her the price. The way she came alive was pretty remarkable considering how much Xanax and ethanol she had in her system. I don't remember exactly how I responded, but she wasn't listening anyway.

Lady: Jesus Christ, I tell ya, they fuck ya no matter which way you turn. They fuck me at the hospital and only give me two god damn pills, you fuck me at the pharmacy and...
Me (interupting): Hey, listen. I understand you're upset. You can't throw a fit here like this. The price is what it is. Take it or leave it.

At that moment I noticed a few other pharmacy patrons were waiting to pick up their scripts and were privy to the current conversation by virtue of it's volume. One lady, who had a thick shief of coupons in one hand and cell phone in the other quickly turned around and trundled her cart to the front of the store. I guess she didn't want to wait. The other person stared at my new Xanax friend like she was some kind of bug.

Lady: Aw, fuck it. Whatever.

She angrily extracted a battered check book from her hand bag and attempted to write a check. The result looked like a preschool experiment, but I've never really cared about whether or not someone gives me a bad check. My pay is never affected.

I took the wrinkled check and fed it into the register. The register attemped to read the check and print the authorization on the back, but it was just too wrinkled to feed through correctly. It got bound up, and the shredded ends of the printer ribbon appeared out of the top of the printer like the frayed ends of sanity. I made a game time decision and handed her the pills.

Me: Sorry about everything. Hope you get to feeling better.
Lady: Still fucking bullshit! God dammit!!!

She vacated the pharmacy and made her way to the front of the store. I breathed a sigh of relief and said something to my tech about dodging a bullet. About five minutes later a mother, daughter, and grandchild (presumably) came back to the pharmacy.

Daughter: Excuse me, there's some lady in a robe out in the parking lot asking people for rides. We just thought you should know.

Asking for rides? The ER she came from was more than 2 miles from my pharmacy. How the hell did she get here? How had she planned to leave? I wondered if she even remembered.

Postscript:

This happened a few months ago, and was not the last time I dealt with the 'Xanax Terror', as I came to think of her. She got a few more scripts from various doctors and was always trying to get early refills, taking a LOT more of her medication that she was supposed to. She offered the same story every time about her father having cancer and pouring them down the drain. Alcoholics, like chronic cannabis smokers, experience reduced short term memory. She usually tried to buy beer at the pharmacy, and we always had to remind her that we didn't have a liquor license. One time she brought back a few tall boys to get with her Xanax, and a shift manager who was working at the time remarked, 'Yeah, party.' After a month or so I took her discharge meds over the phone from a local psychiatric hospital. I'm curious how they found her.

Matt Damon Makes Me Laugh

Matt Damon apparently has no problem talking politics in front of a camera. The interview excerpt is pretty hilarious in that he has no reticence in this American era when just a few years ago the Dixie Chicks were nearly burned at the stake for badmouthing G-Dub. Watch and laugh, amigos.

If the above video doesn't work, here's the link. Blogger hates me today I guess.

Matt Damon Rips Sarah Palin

Spiffy Gets New Mode Of Transportation

So I got a bike to ride to work. The Corpopharm I now work at is a mere 12 blocks from where I live, so I figured pedaling my lazy ass there would be a novel conquest. It folds up to a small size so that I don't have to leave it outside all night for all the hucksters to pilfer. Here's a picture of it.














And folded up:















Isn't it stupid? I can see it now:

Spiffy enters Corpopharm. He's self importantly striding through the sliding doors with a fold-up bicycle under his arm. He walks back to the pharmacy and proclaims, 'Ah! The brisk fall air. How invigorating! Quickly, everyone! Fill those prescriptions. We've got lives to save!' A pharmacy patron at the drop off window notices him and asks the tech, 'Who's that asshole?'. The tech sighs heavily and says, 'That's the night pharmacist. Ever since he started riding a bike to work, he's gotten a little... smug.'

The pharmacy patron watches Spiffy striding around the pharmacy with an air of grandeur that she can't quite swallow. He suddenly bellows at a technician, 'Prior authorazation! Damn it man, there's no time! I'll pay for it myself! That patient NEEDS their medication!' A look of disgust spreads across her face. 'Give me my prescription back,' she says abruptly. 'I'm going to a different pharmacy.'

Confectionery Crime Spree

I met my first crazy person at my new pharmacy last night, and I didn't even know it.

The family came to the drive through at about 4:30 AM. They had scripts for both the mother and child from the ER, which I thought was a bit odd. Antibiotics for the child, par for the course. The mother had some medication for constipation. I guess they pulled the old my child is running a fever and oh by the way doc I haven't shit for 2 days haha.

It took the scripts and told the father of the family I would get everything ready as quickly as possible so he could get his family home. I went to a terminal to input the prescriptions and noticed the vehicle still sitting in the drive through.

I never let people wait in the drive through. There's a million reasons for this, all of them obvious and not terribly entertaining to list. I walked back over to the drive through and got on the PA.

Me: I need you to pull out of the drive through. It needs to be open in case anyone else needs to drop off or pick up. You can wait in the parking lot and I'll signal you when you're ready, or you can come in.
Guy: In? Come inside(a bit of apprehension in his voice)?
Me: Sure. Or you can wait in the parking lot. Whichever is easier for you.

I returned to the terminal to get to work. Within a few minutes he was inside. He came right up to the drop-off window where I was working and just stood there. Side note: it bothers me when people stand idle and watch me work. You could probably relate it to someone sitting with you at a restaurant, watching you eat. Uncomfortable and a bit aggravating. I realized that his English wasn't very good, so I thought I would explain the process of waiting for his scripts again.

Me: I'm still working on your medication. Why don't you have a seat (I gestured toward the ever-present waiting area) and I'll let you know when you're ready.
Guy: Wait... here?

He was kind of ogling me, nonplussed. I reiterated my time quote and relegated myself to having a new pet albatross. Hi-de-ho. After a bit he wandered off, and I assumed he was probably checking out the magazines or possibly the booze section (where I always end up, I just assume everyone else has a problem too. Also, in my kind eyes, the only part of a Corpopharm that has anything worth buying).

I finished entering the scripts into the system, billing insurance, and proceeded to start the holy ritual of count-by-five when I looked back over at the drive through window. My albatross was chilling in the drive through... sans vehicle. He was just standing there with his hands in his pockets trying to look like he wasn't loitering in a drive through. I began to wonder if this gentleman was deliberately fucking with me. I got the scripts filled pretty quickly and got him rung up and counseled. He then sauntered off to his vehicle without incident. He actually seemed very appreciative, more than I can say for most people. I returned to what I had been working on when the store manager came over to the pharmacy.

TheManager: You know that guy that you were just filling for? He's not allowed to come in the store.
Me: Really? (a light bulb was coming on) I guess he was acting a little strange. How did he get banned?
TheManager: Funny story. One night, pretty late, he came in and was just wandering around. After a while, he started messing with the candy displays. He was just standing in front of the candy in front of the pharmacy, right? He was staring at it all pretty intently. After a few minutes, he began to freak out. He would get all worked up, grab a candy bar or whatever, and run with it to another candy display in the front of the store and put it there. This carried on long enough that I told him he had to leave.
Me: Holy shit. I guess he did seem a bit pensive about coming inside.

I REALLY hope he comes back soon. I'm going to get him inside and start throwing candy bars at him. I want to know how many it will take before the dam breaks.

Spiffy Gets Demoted, Escapes The Jungle

It all started last March, on a fine Monday morning of apothecary wonderment. I was on the phone with TheBoss, who had called regarding some issue I probably didn't give a shit about. She concluded her business and I said something that I did not realize was going to issue from my orifice until it escaped. I told her that I wanted out of my current position and requested a transfer work over-nights at the Corpopharm close to my house. I explained that my lifespan at Corpopharm would not last much longer if my request was not met. I hadn't planned on giving her an ultimatum that day, but there it was.

The last six or so months have been a waiting game. Negotiations, compromises, and enough bureaucracy to make your grandmother want to punch babies. My company is large, and the corporate structure is motivated by many factors. My happiness is not chief among them, so it doesn't surprise me that my request was not fulfilled in a golden instant. I'm sure it would have happened more quickly had I threatened to walk. I'm not a dick like that. Even though I work for an evil machine, that machine is responsible for welfare of real people (like your grandmother).

Two weeks ago, TheBoss called and informed me that my transfer was finally a reality. I started working the night shift at my new pharmacy last week, and I feel the sanity creeping back in already.

There's a multitude of reasons why this was necessary. Anyone who reads about my experiences at work has a glimpse into my head. The responses I've gotten from people who read this site tend to be a bit off the mark. I do not hate my job. I enjoy pharmacy. I truly believe I have one of the best jobs available in the United States today. I feel very fortunate to be in the position I am and wouldn't choose many jobs over the one I currently have (video game tester and beer sampler aside). The problem is not my line of work but the segment of the population that it puts me in direct contact with on a daily basis.

I don't understand people. It's difficult for me to articulate just how each and every interaction with patients at the pharmacy affects me, but the result is rarely positive. I'm offended much more easily than most people by the boorish and casual manner of the standard pharmacy patron. Certainly not by things that most people would consider offensive. I can't reconcile the expectations of the American public with my responsibilities as a health care professional. I cannot alter the perception of the masses. I can't make your coupon work for the toilet paper and explain the proper method for your bowel prep kit in the same sentence. I don't want to bill your script to medicaid and see you drive away in an Escalade. It's not within me.

The other elephant in the rooms was being Pharmacist In Charge. PIC is a legally necessary position for any pharmacy. In a nutshell, the PIC is responsible for the pharmacy obeying regulations set forth by the board of pharmacy by that state. Combine this with the fact that I had precious little faith in my partner and the result was a lot stress and anxiety. I realized one day that if I had a family member that needed medication, I would not want them to go to my pharmacy while my partner was on duty. This is a reality at many pharmacies, sad as that is. I decided I didn't want to accept responsibility any longer for things that were beyond my control. I'll never be PIC again, unless I own the joint.

I just got done with my shift. It's 7:30 AM, and I'm having a beer and watching the sun rise over the park. I spent my last 2 hours at work reading Stephen King's Bachman Books. I'll go to bed in an hour or so.

Next time you get out of the ER at 3 AM and head to the 24 Corpopharm to get your scripts filled, it may that weird pharmacist with the tattoos. Don't worry, you're not fucked. I'll take good care of you.

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Also, credit of Dr. Russell and The Onion, here's a little pharmacy funny in case you haven't read it already. I broke my balls laughing.

http://www.theonion.com/content/node/38511

In The Spirit Of

I get to wondering about the shoppers. The women that grab the shopping cart and wander around Corpopharm for 45 minutes like there's something worth buying. The shopping carts at Corpopharm aren't even real, they're the little downsized bitch models that are about half the size of what you get at the grocery store. At stores that are in the ghetto (one of our managers got shot at one of them a few weeks ago, and that's really sad to me) they have a long pole sticking out of the top so that you can't walk out the door with them. I don't know what's more sad:that people want to steal those stupid mini-carts or that Corpopharm can't bear the thought of some crazy indigent going home with one.

It's always the same routine for them. First, walk in and get a cart. Lean over it like it's a walker out of some geriatric fantasy from hell and drag your feet like they're in cement shoes. Stop by the circular kiosk and grab the ad book that you'll argue with register clerk ad nausem about when you're not getting the sale price on the enema special. Yes, we have enema specials. Get into that old handbag which may or may not contain an army of coupons and retrieve the tissue that you've been using long enough to become good friends with it. Stagger up and down the aisles that have the same inferior products as the last time you got away from bingo long enough to get your heart medication. There's got to be something there you haven't seen before. Make sure your perm is wrapped around your skull like a helmet and you shirt has a bible verse or a Nascar number on it. The look in your eyes ranges from skepticism to thinly veiled contempt. This is the only way.

The most amazing part is that Corpopharm is designed to be wholly offensive to the human senses. Combine fluorescent lighting, looped top forty music and abrasive color schemes with the faint smell of desperation and the result is a profound blow to even the most stoic human spirit. Every day I walk in to my store I wonder if the powers that be are trying to deal a personal blow to my constitution. I can't get back to my pharmacy fast enough to drown out Tina Turner or Gwen Stefani with Nine Inch Nails or Cat Power. Not you, constant shopper. You revel in it, you bob your head.

Tomorrow, the first time I see a shopper, I'm going to follow her around. This is not sexist, it's always a her. I'm going to watch and learn. I don't even care what's going on in the pharmacy. This creature is able to ignore the offensive and focus intently on the mundane and banal as if it were virtue. Don't worry, I'll keep my distance. Trifle not with tired tigers.

Putrid Prophylactic Preview

Here's an unedited note from one of the overnights I worked a few weeks ago.

i'm writing this on my laptop. it's 2:59 am. a couple (man and woman) just came into the store. they came directly back to where the condoms are, which happens to be directly in front of the pharmacy. at first it was just the two of them. then another person showed up, and another. now there are five people in a group in front of the condoms, two women and 3 men. now, this isn't altogether uncommon. it's not unusual for a bunch of kids to be looking at the condoms, snickering and grab-assing. this is not the case here. as i'm typing this, there is a group of 5 adults picking out condoms... together. and they're not attractive. oh boy. i really really hope they don't need a consultation. oh go oh god oh god...

Spiffy Gets Reviewed

Today I traveled to the Corpopharm regional office for my annual review with TheBoss. I was truly curious about how the review would transpire as I had never been privy to one before. It turned out pretty much as I expected: forty minutes of business-speak followed by five minutes of the shaft.

Let me explain the relationship between myself and my company with a little metaphor. It's basically akin to a junior high dance. I'm the awkward, acned, poorly dressed boy trying to hide behind bleachers. Corpopharm is the ugly girl with braces and a speech impediment that's made really good friends with the water fountain but nobody else. Now, we both know how this is going down. We're the only two not dancing and everybody knows it. We can either slow dance and pretend to like each other or we can spend the rest of the year not getting picked in gym class. Not even a choice, really.

TheBoss spent most of the meeting discussing Corpopharm business measures and iniatives before she got the part that matters: my raise. Corpopharm saw fit to bestow me with a raise to the tune of 3.6%. Reviewing the inflation rate for 2008 since January, the average is around 4.3% depending on what source you look at. Corpopharm must not have majored in math, because it looks like I just got a pay cut instead of a raise.

I know some of you are thinking, 'But Spiffy, pharmacists already get payed a lot.' I'm aware of this, and I'm very thankful to have a job that compensates me as well as it does. What I'm not OK with is taking a pay cut so that Corpopharm stock interests can show a meager gain for this fiscal quarter. Yay.

This along with the fact that Corpopharm is currently the worst paying chain in a America may be making the math easier for many pharmacists around the country. I hope my scheduler is getting lots of rest tonight.

My Partner Is Retarded

I have questioned it many times before, but now it's official.

I returned to my home pharmacy yesterday after being on holiday doing overnights. I was greeted by loving remarks and warm embraces from my technicians.

Smiley: Spiffy, you're dead to me.
Spiffy: Miss me, huh?

Apparently some of the floater pharmacists inhabiting my pharmacy have been less than desirable. Like it's my fault.

Anyway, my partner had some ground breaking news for me on the status of the CII counts. CIIs are a type of controlled substance that we keep a running inventory on to be sure that nothing goes missing. Federal law requires that a paper trail of each and every little pill is kept, so it's pretty easy to figure out when and where you went wrong, if you indeed did. My partner informed me that the counts were off by a few bottles on 2 different drugs and that she wasn't sure why. She stated that the inventory book showed a different quantity that what was actually on the shelf. I assured her I would look into it at the first opportunity.

Tonight I pulled the order records. Here's what I found:

1. In both instances, my partner ordered each drug herself.
2. In both instances, my partner signed for each drug when it arrived.
3. In both instances, my partner put the drug away herself in the CII cabinet.
4. In both instances, my partner was unable to perform rudimentary addition.

Welcome to Corpopharm.
_______________________________

A phone call from today with the concerned party requesting to speak to a pharmacist. They waited on hold 3 minutes.

Ohhold: Are you a pharmacist?
Spiffy: Yes.
Onhold: How much does this drug cost?
Spiffy: You know, any one of my technicians could have helped you with that.
Onhold: Your what?
Spiffy: *Sigh*. What medication is it?

Another call that requested to speak with a pharmacist:

Caller: What's on your four dollar list?
Spiffy: My what?
Caller: You know, your four dollar list?
Spiffy: No, I don't know.

I have to admit that I was playing dumb. Some pharmacies that are even more evil than Corpopharm have a big list of generic medications that they subsidize themselves and sell for four dollars for a month supply. Fortunately my particular chain doesn't participate in this farce. The person on the phone wanted to know everything that was on it. A stupid question gets you a stupid answer.

Caller: You mean you don't know anything about the four dollar list?
Spiffy: I have no idea what you're talking about.
*Click*

Spiffy Works Extra, Gets Paid Less

Last night should have been great. It wasn't. It started off pretty busy for a Thursday night, with about five people coming in all at once with urgent (!) scripts for 15 Vicodin. All from the same facility and doctor since it's 11:30 on the Thursday evening. How they all get out of the ER at the same time I don't know. They must discharge them in droves, like cattle. I can see it now: The triage nurse releases the hordes with their $500 bills and scripts for 15 little pain pills. She cries,

'To Corpopharm! It lies 5 blocks south of here. Make haste, you heathen whelps!'

One of the patients had an exception and needed Xopenex, which is albuterol but fancier and, consequently, not covered by her insurance. My tech was good enough to call the doctor to see if we could switch it to generic albuterol, which would be covered. The doctor replied that albuterol would not cut it and that the patient needed Duoneb, which is albuterol... plus another ingredient. WTF?!? I was tempted to get on the phone and ask doctor if he knew what the hell he was prescribing, but decided to get to work on the 4 other people that were growing restless and mugging me from the waiting area.

I finally got everybody taken care of and out the door by about 1 AM. The faithful Corpopharm herd gets paid on Thursday evening, so I got on my phone to check my direct deposit. I was really curious to see this paycheck because it covered the last 2 weeks of overnights that I worked. 14 days straight, tons of hours. This means it should have been BIG. It wasn't. It was about the same as most of my paychecks. I stopped at my normal pharmacy on my way home to get the pay stub to start the dispute. The pay stub was not there either. Cut to Corpopharm boardroom at corporate headquarters.

VP: Uh, sir? We've got this issue with one of the pharmacists in the field. He's pulling some major hours and really helping us out of a jam. We need you to approve his pay differential. You know, keep the guy happy.
CEO: Hmmmm....
VP: Sir?
CEO: What if we... don't?
VP: Sir? Don't what?
CEO: Give him the money. What then?
VP: But Sir, we can't...
CEO: Can't!?! I'm the CEO, I can do what I want!
VP: But Sir, he's got the pay stub and of course he'll...
CEO: Pay stub? (CEO pulls Spiffy's pay stub from the inner pocket of his suit. He produces a lighter and puts flame to the paper, instantly igniting it.) What pay stub?
VP: Ah! I see...
CEO: Let him take this up with HR. They're a third party located in Manila. They don't care anyway!
VP: HA! I don't even know where Manila is!
CEO: MWWAAAAAAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

Corpopharm Currency Conundrum

A man stopped into the pharmacy to pick up his medication at 5:00 this morning. He had one arm in a cast and sling, thus had to make some effort to fish the cash out of his wallet to pay for his script.

As I was making change for him, I had to break a role of pennies to get him a couple odd cents. I was in mid swing to break the role when he interjected.

Guy: I don't need the pennies.
Me: Oh, that's OK, I've already got the role broke open. Here you go.
Guy: No. I don't want the pennies. I'll take the silver coins, not the pennies.

Huh? Mind you, I had already put the two pennies with the rest of the change and was attempting to hand them to him. He looked at me like I was trying to hand him a dead baby instead of some change.

Me: But... I've already got them right here...
Guy: I don't care what you do with them, I don't want them.

I must have been missing something. The man did accept a nickel as part of his change, which was a mere 3 cents more than the 2 pennies he would not take. I wonder if I had turned the nickel into pennies if he would have accepted that.

This all comes 4 days after I started a change jar at the 24 hour Corpopharm I've been subbing at. They didn't have one, and people leave change laying around all the time. I would have put the pennies in that if one of the front store managers hadn't posted a big sign in the pharmacy after seeing the change jar. It reads:

'Team! We cannot have a change jar for change left at the register or lying around the store. The change must be rung up at the register as a non-taxable item and put in the cash drawer. Put the receipt under the drawer with the refunds. Please see me with questions. Thank you.'

Seriously?!? Apparently Corpopharm's policy on loose change is not finders-keepers, it's big brother breaks your legs and steals your piggy bank. I hate people a little bit more today. Just for that, I'm going to start stealing change from the register every night when I get bored. There's no one there to see me do it anyway.