The Kegerator Misadventure: Part 1

It was Friday, 4 PM. I had gotten done counting pills at 2 and had just completed my run when Don'tworryaboutit called me.

DWAI: Dude, we have to get up north. The appliance store closes at 5.
Me: What the shit? You said they were open until 6.
DWAI: Well, I was wrong. Get moving. *click*

I was sitting at my computer sweating. It takes me a good 20 minutes to cool off after running. Today, there would be no such time allowance. The time for greatness had come.

You see, 2 weeks earlier, Don'tworryaboutit, myself, and Risk were picking out the appliances for our house. A helpful young lady showed us all the options for the standard washer, dryer, and other such domestic niceties. She could have told us said appliances aborted children while simultaneously destroying the ozone layer. We mostly just said yes, yes, yes, and fine. Hey, we're guys. Everything looked pretty much the same. The more expensive models all had more buttons and dials, but didn't really seem to do much more. All except one. Suddenly, Risk livened and gestured to the far end of the display room. His tone was inquisitive yet determined:

How much for the kegerator?

-Kegerator is a slang term for a a keg (usually of beer) stored inside of a refrigerator in order to keep the keg chilled. In most cases, the user is able to tap the keg without opening the door because of specially drilled holes.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kegerator

There it stood. A majestic, gleaming monument to consumption. The American Dream wrapped in stainless steel flowing with freon. Needless to say, we were all smitten. We bought it on the spot, with one exception. It lacked an essential part (the CO2 tank) that would need to be ordered from the outlet's supplier. Fine. The wait would be approximately one week. Long enough to consider what we had done and come to terms with a few more years of alcoholism.

I got up from my desk, showered, and drove to DWAIs in a frenzy. It was 4:36, and traffic heading north out of the city at that time of day was sluggish at best. I spent most of the drive screaming obscenities and shaking my fist angrily at commuters. I don't think it actually saved me any time.

DWAI made it to the appliance store by 4:55. It was the classic let's-hurry-the-customers-the-fuck-up-and-get-the-store-closed Friday afternoon drill. So, we grabbed the fridge and carried it out to DWAIs car. The moment of truth had come. DWAI drives a Subaru Outback, which is basically a downsized minivan. Whether or not the fridge would fit was questionable. God as my witness, it made it by about 2 centimeters. We almost had to remove the tapper.

10 minutes later we were back at DWAIs and had the fridge moved into his living room. We were still missing 2 crucial elements to the keg fridge equation. One was the keg of beer. The other was CO2 for our cannister. Getting ahold of the keg and fridge had been no problem, but the CO2 for the cannister was not an easy thing to come by at 6pm on a Friday evening in my metro area. It was time to get persuasive...

This weekend in Vegas I...

...had my first drink of the day no later than 1 pm every day.

...got told by an 80 year old lady in Caesar's poker room that I was 'full of shit'.

...had my first In-N-Out-Burger. Awesome.

...gave Humpty Dumpty the finger.

...got kicked out of a VIP area at V bar because I wasn't purchasing bottle service. Assholes.

...played penny slots for major profits ($10).

...got questioned about my personal drug usage history by pharmacy residents.

...viewed an exhibit of plasticized human bodies. Sweet.

...had my drinking habits questioned by numerous 3-6 limit poker players at Caesar's. Talk about judgmental, I'm on vacation.

Spiffy gone

In 24 hours, I will be on the Las Vegas strip, drinking Singapore Slings with mescal on the side(that taste of burnt driftwood will be awful and wonderful simultaneously). Corpopharm will be so far away that my senses will no longer perceive it. I will achieve singularity and sanity in the same moment.

My hope for the weekend is that I will be a horrendous wreck, even by Vegas standards. My only plan so far is to spend enough time in the poker room at Caesar's to consume a baker's dozen of White Russians. That seems like an attainable goal.

I may not return to the real world after this. Vaya con dios.

Spiffy Tired

Corpopharm is stealing my life, and I'm not entirely sure how it happened. Last week I worked 64 hours and this week I'll have 44 hours by Wednesday night. All I've done in the last 10 days is count pills, explain Medicare D plans and erupt in the occasional emotional outburst. Here's an example, as seen from the eyes of Giggles, my lead technician:

Me (checking a script. Suddenly, I slam my fist into my keyboard and offer a few eloquent curses) Ratfink! COCKMASTER!!!
Giggles: Uh, Spiffy, what...
Me: Some asshole stole my phone list again!! WHAT THE FUCK!?!?!

I have a phone directory of the all the Corpopharms in my metro area. This phone directory sits at my workstation with other important pharmacy equipment. This includes my calculator, my fish bowl (it holds crap that I leave to deal with when I'm not busy), and my script pads. The only other people that occupy my work station are pharmacists. As the simplest explanation is most often the correct one, this leads me to believe that some floater pharmacist walked off with my phone directory. This, my friends, is not acceptable.

Having a phone directory is important because people call me all the time and expect me to give them the phone number, directions to, and to-the-pill drug inventories of Corpopharms in Bumfuck, Egypt. Here's my usual response:

Me: I don't know. Call 411.

I say this because it is inappropriate for the general public to assume that their pharmacist is a phone directory, and has nothing better to do than play operator all day. Moreover, I don't have the time. I keep the phone list because sometimes it is important to get people connected to the proper pharmacy in a timely manner so that they can get their boner pills or early Norco refill.

After the above mentioned fit, I walked around the rest of the day with a set jaw and clenched fists. At that point, I had been working far too much and just didn't want to be in the pharmacy that day. It was sort of a straw that broke the camel's back situation. My phone list had been pilfered a few times already, and that time just set me off. It was actually pretty amazing. People would approach the pharmacy, see me, and suddenly veer off as if it suddenly seemed wiser to not engage me conversation. I need to get pissed more often.

After leaving work that day, I realized it was a bit silly to become so upset over a trivial event. I came back to work the next day to discover a note that I'd attached to my new phone list in response to the recent larceny. Apparently I was in quite a fury, because I don't remember doing it:

If you take this phone list, I will find you and burn your house down. Love, Spiffy.

Work in my pharmacy at your own risk.

Chateaus Bitchin' Stands Proud

It's been a long road, but the house is finally done. Myself, Don'tworryaboutit, Risk, and Applephiliac have moved in and are reveling in it's splendor. Although we don't quite have enough furniture to fill it up yet, we have all the important items.

1. Keg fridge? Check.
2. Hot tub? Check.
3. Gun cabinet? Check.
4. Pool table? Check.

The keg fridge was actually the first item moved in, and we had a new keg in it within 7 minutes. We have our priorities straight.

Here's some memorable quotes from moving day:

You two leaving? Alright, I'll stay here and dong wander for a while. You know, establish a neighborhood presence.
-Me
I'm not lifting that fucking thing again. You do it.
-Don'tworryaboutit
My arms are cramping up. I need to sit down.
-Risk
Let's take this couch to the middle of the lot and burn it. The neighbors will know we mean business.
-Risk
Better get those pads on. We don't need any hot wood-on-wood action.
-Me
I need a drink.
-Don'tworryaboutit

I'm going to post more pictures on my picture site. If you don't have the address to my picture site, just leave your email address in the comment section of this post and I'll send it to you.

Moving

For the past week, Spiffy has been moving into his new house. Combine that with ~50 hour work weeks and you've got one plumb tuckered pharmacist. There has been precious little time for such frivolous pursuits like pharmacy rants and raves.

Internet is to be installed in Chateaus Bitchin' this Saturday. I'm going to put up a bunch of pictures of my new house sometime this weekend, hopefully. If you don't have the address of my picture site, shoot me an email and I'll send it to you.

Some other things have been brewing at work, and change appears to be in the wind. Keep your ear to the ground...

Hot Monday Action

I worked the whole Monday today. What a bad idea.

One lady wanted her scripts transfered from another pharmacy. My tech was nice enough to get all the information for me that I needed before I called the other pharmacy. She explained to the lady that we normally require 24 hours for transfers. The lady was not happy, and demanded to wait. Now, at this time it was about 8:30 on a Monday night. While we were not super busy, we were still trying to get caught up from a full day of Doctor no-call-backs, early Vicodin refills, and Aetna prior authorizations. For those of you not in the pharmacy biz, this is a joke and you should be laughing uproariously.

Lady: I've been running around all day, and I need this medication! I'll wait, I don't care how long it takes.
Tech: OK, you can wait, but it may take some time.
Lady: Fine.

She said fine like she'd won a battle or something. What an asshole. I got done with all the other 'urgent' things I was doing and called the pharmacy that was written on the transfer forms. They were closed. Awesome.

Me: That pharmacy is closed. I'll call them in the morning for you.
Lady: No, they're over at the other Corpopharm I was just at! I just had them transfer them for me 20 minutes ago when I was up there.
Me (pause, condescending look): So, why aren't you picking them up there?
Lady: This pharmacy is closer to where I'm staying. I just thought it would be easier.

Right. Easier as in taking up 3 different pharmacies time on a busy Monday to transfer her stupid pills. I'm sure they were stupid pills because no one is born that dumb after millions of years of evolution.

So, I called the Corpopharm up the street. I know everybody there because I fill in for the overnight shift from time to time. I cut straight to the chase.

Me: Did you just transfer some scripts from a pharmacy in Chicago for a really demanding lady with a fat mouth?
Tech: Haha. Let me get the pharmacist for you.
Pharmacist: Shit, she's there now?!? Oh, yeah, she was just here. When we told her it would take some time to get the transfers, she took the pill bottles back and left. Good luck with that one.

Here's the moment of sweet retribution. You get to explain to a person how stupid they are.

Me: Ma'am, I just called Corpopharm up the street and they said you left before they could transfer the scripts. I can still call the pharmacy in Chicago in the morning if you need me to.

The dawning comprehension on her face filled me with joy. First, her facial features appeared confrontational, as if she was about to start blubbering some ill constructed argument. It was a beautiful transformation from angry to confused to dismayed. She quickly retracted.

Lady: Oh, yes, that's right. Well, what time can I pick them up tomorrow?
Me: What time does your other pharmacy open?

She acted as if I'd just requested her to calculate pi to 45 places while juggling flaming unicycles.

Lady: I don't know!
Me: Well, neither do I. I'll call them tomorrow.

She then left, defeated. I only wish I could have done more.