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.