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...