Beautiful Booze Boon

Just so you know, Corpopharm is still open and the pills are flowing like amber waves o' grain. Although there's been plenty to write about (swine flu, the FDA wanting to take away Tylenol and Vic-O-Dans, the Obama Health Care Masacre), I haven't felt like writing about any of it. Sometimes, well, it just doesn't seem that funny (tear, sniff).

Of course my patients have been up to the same old antics. Just the other day a guy told me I gave him 50 Vicodin instead of 100. I have to admire that he really went for the gold on that one. Even my fellow health care professionals are going crazy. A fellow pharmacist stopped in the other night to tell me how much better things were going for him. He stated that he was getting some of his health problems under control and that he had a date lined up for Friday night after a long dry spell. Then, he proceeded to visit another 24 hour Corpopharm and tell the pharmacist there (who called me afterward) that he was planning to kill himself soon. So it goes.

This, however, is just Too Fucking Rich. On my way up to the front of the store last night for my daily dose of Diet Mountain Dew (one of my few vices, besides amputee porn and skinning hookers) I spied with my little eyes this monument to alcohol abuse in the photo above. Just another representation of Corpopharm's concern for your health and well being. The first thought in your brain bucket upon entering the apothecary should be Jager bombs and drinking until you black out. What? Do you know anyone using Jager for anything else?

An elderly couple enter Corpopharm. The woman is supporting herself with a walker. There are tennis balls attached the feet that are that perfect bright yellow-green in the July sun. It's morning sun, not that hot, angry afternoon sun that bakes the parking lot asphault and makes dogs want to bite. The man has on a straw hat with a little feather poking out of the hatband at a jaunty angle. They are here for their monthly medications, and that's all right.

Woman: My, my! It's certainly fixin' to be a cooker! 90 degrees by noon, mark my words!

Man: Yuh, I reckon you're right. Why, it's a good thing this pharmacy is open so early. I do declare that venturin' out into the heat for us old folks is a per-i-lous pursuit!

Woman: While we're here, don't let me forget to pick up... Saaaaayyyyy, is that a cooler full of that Jager-whats-it over yonder?

Man: Where? I don't... Ah! By gum, I think it is! Isn't that the concoction that all the kids are drinking these days?

Woman: Yes, it is! They drink it by the quart, then they go out on the town and get up to dickens! Why, I do believe junior had a headful of that stuff when he burned down the ol' McCibben place.

Man: Golly! It's even in the cooler already. What do you say, Maud, don't you think a cold snootful' would be powerful refreshin' on a hot day like this?

Woman: Oh, to be young again!

The old couple forgets all about the pharmacy and their medication. The leave Corpopharm with an ice cold bottle of Jagermeister and a little extra spring in their step. They never return.

Happy Independence Day, everyone. Remember what it's all about.

Silent, Salient Sanity Solution

Ever since I became a night pharmacist I’ve contended that there isn’t a better pharmacy job out there.  Sure, there may be jobs that are more fulfilling.  There may be jobs that would allow me to put more of my high powered education to use, to be the big-brained professional that the health care system needs.  Just not for me.  I wouldn’t trade all the engagement in the world for the freedom that my current job affords me, not only for my time spent at work but for the time I’m away from work.  Ask any other pharmacist when the next time is they’ll have 7 days off in a row and they’ll laugh in your face.  I get it every other week.

I’m definitely not trying to brag.  There’s a reason why night positions aren’t hard to get.  Most pharmacists don’t want them.  It boggles my mind, but there are a variety of reasons (that I suppose are sound enough for those who have them) more people don’t want the graveyard.  I’m getting away from my point, however.  The point here is that although I thought my job couldn’t get much better, tonight it has.

I’ve written before about the music that plays all day long at Corpopharm.  We’ve all experienced it before, the standard soft rock/pop that can be heard in any chain store across America.  Unoffensive, unassuming and most importantly, upbeat.  I imagine there’s some study out there that shows listening to the music in a Corpopharm makes people want to buy shitty merchandise, and I wouldn’t doubt it for a second.  It’s the type of fair that might make someone think, on an unconscious level, “Saaayyyyy, maybe I will buy one of those back scratchers.” Or “That 3XL tshirt is such a delightful shade of fuschia, I’d better pick up a few more.”  To some, spending 15 minutes in the ‘As Seen On TV’ aisle might seem like a sane thing to do when you’ve got ‘Lyin Eyes’ rolling in the background.  The only problem is that it makes me a bit edgy.  Here’s a few examples.

Manic Monday: Madonna

As soon as this song starts up, I get the urge to run at the first living thing I see and kill it.

Believe: Cher

In the tender words of David Cross, I’d rather hear the death rattle of my only child than listen to that piece of shit one more time.

What’s Love Got To Do With It: Tina Turner

Hearing this song makes me wish that Ike had been a little heavier with the hands.

Hearing the awful music at Corpopharm might not seem so bad to the casual visitor.  However, imagine the mild discomfort you experience after being subjected to that noise for 10 minutes, then imagine hearing it for 40 hours every week.  This mix doesn’t change, either.  It’s the same thing, every… single… day.  It’s a recipe for disaster, and I honestly can’t believe that more Corpopharm employees don’t go postal.

I asked the manager at the first Corpopharm I worked at if something could be done about the auditory assault that we were all encountering every day at work.  He calmly explained to me that the music, along with every other aspect of the store, was controlled at a Corporate level.  Nothing to be done, he said.  I accepted the answer because 1) why would he lie, and 2) I acted under the false assumption that everyone was as abused by the music as I was.  If the store manager was undergoing the same mental molestation I was, why wouldn’t he want to do something about it?

The old saying, all good things to those who wait, is bullshit.  After a careful inspection of the office at my store, I found this.  I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. 

On this simple little box was the knob of my dreams, the knob of my destiny.  Once I saw it, I felt such simple and clear content that I smiled and said, ‘Ah!  Yes.’  The knob that’s marked ‘Aux’ is the very knob that controls the volume of the ‘music’ that has been torturing my psyche all this time.  After feeling the rough, cool plastic serrations on the side, I knew it was real.  I smiled again, closed my eyes, and turned it all the way to the left.

Immediately, the Corpopharm soundtrack was gone.  Absolutely, perfectly, irrefutably gone.  It may have never been there.  In it’s place, I could hear the angels singing.

Monday Morning Mania

Okay, so not much, but this morning Don'tworryaboutit walked into the house at 7:30 and stated,

Jesus, what an awful day for a hangover.

Happy Easter.

Lonely Island Laugh Riot

If you haven't seen it yet, you need to:

It's a little sad that so many people are trapped in Cubeland that something like this is so horribly relevant.  One of these days, if a coworker of yours goes rambling around the office with a shotgun (not to mention the best of intentions), I wouldn't take the time to act surprised.  You can either hit the deck or pick up a weapon and join them.  Ah, freedom.

Scary Surgical Scandal

I'm very, very tired right now.  I'm sure I'll be asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow, but I had to get this on record first.  The quality of this stupid is quite staggering.

The career of pharmacy exposes the pharmacist to such a constant barrage of idiocy that I fear we begin to get desensitized.  I know that I don't write about many of the types of things I used to simply because I'm so used to them.  It's a sad day when all the stupid starts to seem normal, but it's the plain truth.

The phone rang at about 2 AM.  That's usually when I'm sitting down to lunch, and last night was no exception.  The woman on the line stated that needed a recommendation on pain medication.

Woman: I just had surgery and am experiencing some pain.  Ummm, can you tell me what I can take?

Me: Your doctor didn't send you home with a prescription for pain medication?

Woman: I'm not at home, I'm in the hospital.

Me: Sorry?

Admittedly, I was a bit nonplussed.  In fact, I was quite sure I was completely misunderstanding the entire situation.

Me: I'm sorry, I think I misunderstood.  Did you say you're still in the hospital?

Woman: Yes, I'm still here but I'm in pain.  I need to know what medication I can take.

I was completely speechless.  I've been at a loss for words at work before, but this time it was as though I'd been lobotomized.  I just sat there like an idiot until she started talking again, at which point I managed to formulate some questions.

Me: So you're still at the hospital?

Woman: Yes.

Me: You're admitted?  You're not sitting in a waiting room or something?

Woman: Yes.

Me: (long pause) So, why aren't you asking your nurse or a doctor about this?

Woman: Well, I'm allergic to some pain medications, and I just need to know what to ask for.

Me: Are your doctors aware of your medication allergies?

Woman: Yes.

Me: Ma'am, if you're admitted to the care of a hospital staff, they are the ones in charge of your medication therapy.  They decide what is appropriate for you to take.  I am not part of that team, and I can't make recommendations on a situation to which I am uninformed.

Woman: Well, what pain medications has my husband gotten lately?  Can I take those?

Just picture this situation.  This woman went to a hospital, had surgery, and then started making calls to Corpopharm in the middle of the night while she was still in the hospital trying to get me to tell her what pain medication she needed.  I would put that on par with the last time I saw a dog eat it's own vomit, with a few extra points to the dog for trying to recycle.

Me: Ma'am, you can't take your husbands medications, or anything that has been prescribed to someone else for that matter.

Woman: Well, I just don't know what to do.

I guess it must be a bitch to have to decide what medication you're going to take on a whim.  I mean, it's not like she was in a place surrounded by health care professionals that could make immediate interventions armed with with complete knowledge of her current medical situation.  Why not call the night pharmacist down the street who's totally ignorant of her recent surgery and any other medical interventions?

I think I'll go visit her today and bring a handful of the biggest, most colorful pills in the pharmacy that I can find.  I'm going to make her promise not to tell her doctors, though, because they clearly don't know what they're doing.  I'm done.

Haitian Hashish How-To

A quick note on Dominicans and Haitians: if you stroll along their beaches and have numerous visible tattoos, they think you love drugs.  Love them.

Here's the deal.  The Domincan Republic is pretty poor compared to American standards.  If what I'm told is correct, Haiti is even worse.  These people will naturally take any opportunity to make a buck, and American tourists look like big, fat, white piggy banks to them.  Unless it's day 2 of the vacation, in which case they look like a red piggy banks.

So, when you're down there on your expensive all inclusive vacation, they take the opportunity to squeeze even more green out of you.  The most common form of this is solicitors that hang out on the beach and try to get you to sign up for parasailing, boating excursions and in my case, illicit drugs.

So, if you're down in the Dominican and looking to score, here's a few tips:

1.  See the guys carying around the folders with parasailing/banana boat/snorkeling trip information?  They sell drugs.  All of them.  Even if you don't see them, they see you, and will be harassing you every hour you're on the beach.  Just listen for the guy yelling, "Looky looky!  Cheapy Cheapy!"

2.  Don't speak in code.  Most of these guys don't know English very well, and if you ask them for an ounce of their stickiest kind you may get something you're not bargaining for.  Weed is weed and cocaine is cocaine, you old degenerate.

3.  When negotiating price, pay no more than $75 USD for 7 grams of weed or 1 gram of coke.  Just because these guys live in huts doesn't mean you can come right out and lowball them.  Have some respect, white boy!

4.  Even better than buying from a beach vendor is buying from hotel staff.  Hotel staff need to protect their reputation, not to mention their turf.  Buying from the hotel staff will ensure you not only get quality swag, but protection from police should you be caught in the act.  As one staff member of a neighboring resort informed me, the local police could be bought for as little as $2 USD, or maybe $5 if he was having a bad day.  Not bad, gringo!

5.  Hablas Espanol!  Even if you're not fluent, a few Spanish phrases will help break the ice with your new amigo and show him you mean business.  Just don't get carried away and accidentally tell him he's got a funny face, or he'll slit your throat and drag you into the surf. Que lastima!

6.  Make sure you get all your partying done before you head back to the airport.  Those drug dogs are only sleepy if they don't smell that half ounce you decided to save.  Down boy.

There you have it.  Just because you have to pass a customs inspection doesn't mean your tropical vacation has to be lame (sober).

Please Read Carefully

I know nobody ever reads this, but there are times when I wish I could shove my prerogative up the ass of every man, woman, and Donkey in America.  This is one of those times.

To every nurse, doctor, and receptionist in clinics and hospitals across America: stop telling your patients how much their prescription will cost.  Stop immediately.  The second you open your mouth to say, "That's a four dollar prescription.  It will cost four dollars." you become a complete moron.  It doesn't matter how smart you were before you made that erroneous statement.  The second that oral diarrhea exits your orifice, you immediately transgress to the equivalent of a trisomy 21.  You're a monkey throwing feces, you're a post op lobotomy patient.  You're a dark ages trepanning victim, minus the spiritual enlightenment.  

I'm stating the obvious here, but all of these supposedly bright people don't seem to understand that they have no idea what will happen when their patient wanders into an apothecary to fill their script.  None.  How could they?  Unless they've got a crystal ball that shows them my workstation screen, they're making a blind assumption about something that they are woefully ignorant about.  It would be like me telling a patient at the pharmacy that a prostate exam will cost him $50 at Dr. X's office and that includes a happy (!) ending.  

Here's the bottom line.  You can't know what a prescription will cost until you take it to a pharmacy, enter it into the computer, and wait for the computer to spit out a price.  Period.  Cash prices are always changing,  insurance formularies are always changing, and trying to predict either of which is like trying to predict Gary Busey after an eight ball.  You just can't do it.

Then again, I'm the guy that made a lady cry this morning right before I left work.  It's a wonderful world.