Baffling Busch Bonanza

I walked in the door this morning to find a can of Busch sitting in the counter. Seriously:

And what else? It's empty. Someone actually drank the damn thing.

My eyes immediately darted around the house surveying for damage. What kind of fiends would bring redneck beer into my home late on a Friday and leave one solitary, innocuous can sitting on the counter? If you ever come home to find empty Busch cans littering your domicile, you can also expect broken furniture, public nuisance citations and the change stolen off your dresser.

In this house, this just doesn't make sense. Don'tworryaboutit and Risk are both home this weekend, but neither of them would trade their hard earned wages for this swill. Risk is a wine man, I don't know that I've ever seen him bring beer home for his own personal enjoyment. Don'tworryaboutit would drink window cleaner if it would get him drunk, but even he has more sense than to buy skunk like this.

I'm definitely not hating on Busch. There's plenty of good ol' boys out there who pull dusty cans of Busch out of the beds of pickups after a long day in the field for a refresher. God bless 'em for it. However, if there's any beer you could classify as classic American Skunk, this is it.

I set the can down, shaking my head and opened up the keg fridge for my own after work refreshment. What I saw appalled me. The genesis of the can on the counter was made clear by the entire case of Busch occupying a shelf of the keg fridge. What compounded the mystery was the case of Pabst on the shelf above it.

What the blue fuck? Busch? Pabst? Busch and Pabst? While Busch is almost exclusively poor white trash and farmer beer, Pabst nowadays belongs to hipsters, college students, and the old timers that still recognize that blue ribbon quality. But the young professional crowd that my roommates run with? No sir.

There really should be quite a good story behind this.

Anal Alice Argument

Enough bullshit. Here are the facts:

1)Alice in Chains, after a 14 year hiatus, is releasing their new album Black Gives Way to Blue on September 29th.

2)Alice's previous lead singer, Layne Staley, was found dead in his Seattle condominium on April 19, 2002.

3)Alice will be featuring a new lead singer (William DuVall) on their new album. They have already released two singles via their website, A Looking In View and Check My Brain. Both tracks are unequivocally awesome and will melt your face the second you hear them.

Everyone is aware to the aforementioned facts. That's why they're facts, there's no arguing them. Everyone is waiting for the album and probably would murder kittens to get it early. I know I've got my flannel shirts and Doc Martens ready like it's 1995. I even had all my jeans stonewashed.

Here's where the BS starts. You generally hear this piece of BS from two camps, the metal heads and the hippies.

Metal heads: Heard the new Alice single? Bro sounds just like Layne! Aww, man you can't even tell the two apart!!

Hippies: Hey man, that new lead singer for Alice sounds just like Layne Staley, man. Yeah, it's like he was, like, reincarnated or something. It's totally trippy (cough cough cough)!

You even hear a radio DJ say it from time to time, although most of them are wise enough not to. Let me clue all you assholes in on something.

Alice in Chains uses a technique known as vocal harmony in most of their music. Vocal harmony occurs when two vocalists sing various parts of the song together in the same tune. Much of their old stuff contained vocal harmony, and both of the singles released for the upcoming album feature extensive vocal harmony.

What does this mean? It means you're all retarded and don't realize that half of this vocal harmony has always been and will continue to be the musical genius and guitar god Jerry Cantrell. What used to be Layne Staley is now William DuVall. With half of the equation being the same as it has always been, of course it's going to sound pretty similar. In the parts of the song where DuVall is singing alone, it's pretty clear to me that he sounds nothing like Layne Staley. Is he good? Yes. Are the songs good? Obviously. Is William DuVall reincarnated Layne Staley? Don't make me laugh. Maybe if I was taking constant bong rips throughout the song (hippies) or headbanging (metal heads) I wouldn't be able to discern a difference. Please, pull your heads out.

We can all agree that the new album is going to be divine. Let's settle for that.

Marauding Moneybags Motherfucker

Moneybags is a regular at my pharmacy. I've written about him before. He's the guy who came through the drivethrough one night with literally a trunk full of cash. Normally, he's pretty tame. Last night, he was in rare form. He pulled into the drivethrough in a Lexus sedan. He always has a different car. He told me one night that he hasn't owned a car long enough to have to change the oil in the last 10 years.

Moneybags: Hey, Spiffy! I need my refills. Here's one of my bottles...

He threw the empty script bottle toward the pass-through, missing by a wide margin. He always has one bottle with him for one of the refills that he's already called in. It's only one bottle, even if he has multiple refills. I can't figure out why. The bottle bounced off the passthrough and fell to the ground near his car.

Moneybags: Motherfucker.

He said it in an almost contemplating tone, as if he was trying to figure out how he'd gone wrong. He put his fancy Lex in reverse and started to back up. He suddenly stopped and stuck his head out the window.

Moneybags: Where the... motherfucker.

This time, he almost breathed the curse so I could barely hear it. He continued to back up until he had enough room to get his door open and got out. He walked toward the empty bottle and swung his foot at it with grim determination. He missed.

Moneybags: Motherfucker. Mother... (cocking his leg back for a hearty kick) FUCKER!

This time he connected with the bottle, sending it spinning across the drive through lane and careening off the curb. I was absolutely speechless. He looked like a five year old throwing a tantrum. I would have been laughing if I hadn't been so taken aback.

Moneybags: Fucker.

He walked calmly over to his confrontational bottle, picked it up, and walked back to the pass-through. Calmly, he placed it in the pass-through.

Moneybags: I'm getting back in my car now.

Me: OK.

I wonder what had him so riled up. I thought about asking if someone had broken into his trunk and taken his bankroll. I decided it would be wiser not to. I didn't want to end up in there.

Sassy Signature Log Scandal

At Corpopharm you must sign a piece of paper when you pick up a prescription. This is Corpopharm's proof that the person you're interacting with has offered the patient the opportunity to speak with a pharmacist. Pharmacies must make the offer to counsel because of this boring law that nobody cares about known as OBRA 90. That's not the point.

The point is that nobody can figure out the signature log. You could hand the signature log to a MENSA member and suddenly they would transform into a knuckle-dragging, shit-chucking mouth-breathing ape. The sig log is divided up into three columns. The middle column is designated for a sticker that comes off of the label of the prescription you are picking up. On each side of the middle column is another column, this one with a blank space. You sign on the left if you wish to wave your privilege to speak to the pharmacist, and sign on the right if you do not. It doesn't even matter which side you sign on, as long as you sign somewhere. The instructions are stated at the top of the form in plain English.

Sounds easy, right? WRONG. Last night provided a good example of just how difficult this task is for your average pharmacy patron.

Idiot: Huh? Sign?

She looked at the sig log like it was a recently uneathed Hebrew script from 150 BC. I could tell it was going to take her some time to decipher it, so I took a deep breath and provided her with instruction.

Me: See the stickers in the middle column? Just sign to the left of each one in the blank space.

She trailed her hand over the form, tracing the runes and heiroglyphs that undoubtedly danced before her eyes. Her finger stopped on the middle column, where the stickers from her prescriptions resided. There is no room to write on the stickers. She looked up at me bravely and smiled.

Idiot: (pointing to the stickers) Here?

Me: Sign on the left side of the stickers.

She looked back down at the form with a puzzled look on her face. After a few seconds she looked back up.

Idiot: I need to sign? Where?

Me: (pause for effect) Sign to the LEFT of the stickers. See the blank boxes?

Her finger made another drunken course around the sig log. She finally landed on the righthand column.

Idiot: You want me to sign to the right?

Me: (audible sigh) Send the form back in, please.

She sent the form back in (she was at the drive through, of course) and I put a large X in each box she needed to sign. They don't make us pharmacists go to six years of school for nothing. I sent the form back out, deciding that if she couldn't figure it out this time I would refill her scripts with anthrax and hope for the best.

Damnable Deer Hunter Depravity

Deer Hunter was back last night. I really need to get rid of that asshole.

This time was different, however. This time, he was Deer Hunter Incognito. He approached the counter with some girl who had a few scripts from the ER. I took the scripts from her and entered them into the computer, telling her it would take just a few minutes. She walked over to the waiting area and sat down, but Deer Hunter remained. I didn't realize it was him until he handed me a script from the same ER with his name on it.

I hadn't recognized DH initially because he was wearing a baseball cap pulled down low over his brow, part of what I'll refer to as White Trash Uniform. You wear this uniform if you live in my city and fit these four categories:

1) White/Anglo/Caucasian
2) Male
3) Age 13-50
4) IQ < 100

The White Trash Uniform (WTU) has many variations and a few crucial components. They're all clASSy. The most important feature is that all articles of clothing are no less than two sizes too large. The pants must be hanging off the ass. Headwear is optional, but if not present corn rows are preferred. Bling in the form of neck chains or oversized watches is preferred, just so people can see what a balla you are. Neck tattoos are also preferred. Shirt should feature local professional sports team or weed leafs.

I'll never understand the White Trash Uniform. You might as well wear a sandwich board that says, "I live in a trailer, beat my girlfriend/dog/kids, get arrested biweekly, and generally suck at life."

DH handed me a prescription and surprisingly did not start into some long winded explanation about how he had fucked up and lost his drugs. I started to put them into the computer and remembered that the last few times he had been in he'd had no insurance cards. I kindly asked DH if he could provide me with his insurance information.

DH: Uh, yeah! I got Medicare!

I surveyed DH with my eyes for a few seconds. He returned my gaze with a look of puzzlement and dim hope. I sighed internally and asked DH if he happened to have an insurance card on his person so that I could properly bill his scripts.

DH: I go to Kmart! They got it all there.

I reminded DH that Kmart was not open in the middle of the night. I nearly reminded DH that he and I had been through this particular performance before. I decided he might read between the lines, realize I was calling him an idiot, and opted not to.

I eventually located DH's Medicaid coverage with the miracles of modern technology and filled the scripts he had from the ER. I called him up to the counter to ring him up at which time he engaged me in cordial conversation.

DH: Yeah, me an' the ol' lady havin' a rough night. Went to the ball game! I fell down the stairs at the stadium, and she got a sore mouth. Helluva deal!

Remember the last time DH came to my pharmacy? He got drunk at the river and lost his drugs. Tonight, he got drunk at the baseball game (drunk? based on the way he smelled, he was probably swimming in the beer) and stair-surfed the upper deck. He must not be able to handle his liquor.

In related news, NPR reported this morning that my state is in budget crisis for next year. One of the key areas needing more funds was Medicaid, so people like DH can get drunk and fall down not just on weekends but Tuesday too.

I quit.

Corpopharm Crisis Calamity

Sometimes life can throw you a curveball. The last month at Corpopharm has been a big old shit sandwich, and we've all gotten to take a bite. Here's the highlights:

1. One of our regular pharmacists quit. The grass was greener over at Corpopharm 2 and he hauled stakes like a donkey on a hay binge. Which leads to...

2. Floaters! I've talked about floaters before. They're temp pharmacists that Corpopharm sends in to pick up the slack when a general infantryman goes down in the heat of battle. Even if they don't suck, the pharmacy just doesn't run a smoothly with one of it's well oiled parts missing. That's not even worth considering though, because they always suck. Hard. The floater we had this week actually threw a tantrum and got in a fight with a technician, right in the middle of a busy work day. Fucking sweet.

3. My partner got fired. The asshole decided to let his license expire. This means I've been working the last month by myself. Whatever, I don't need time off.

4. New computer system! This wouldn't be much of a problem, but most of our technicians our legally retarded. I'm bringing in a bunch of monkeys to bang at the keyboards while hurling excrement. I'm sure it will be an improvement.

I'm sure there's been plenty of funny stories, but I don't remember them. It doesn't matter. Next month contains two events that will erase this month in one fell swoop:

1) Nine Inch Nails: September 5, Wiltern Theater

I've heard LA is quite an awful place. I'm willing to bear it, if only this one time. NIN is currently on their last tour ever, and I managed to score tickets for the second to last show EVER. If I survive it, you can expect some eventful pictures and video footage.

2) Great American Beer Festival Sept 25

Nestled in the heart of downtown Denver, this quaint little festival is host to the best breweries in America. With literally thousands of beer ripe for the tasting, you're a fool not to be there. I am not a fool. I will be there.

Anal Asinine Analgesia

Remember the deer hunter from last November? He was back last night! Without referring to the old post, this gentlemen arrived at the pharmacy in the middle of the night late in last November because his maintenance narcotics had been unceremoniously removed from his person by a cadre of ruffians. It grieves me just to say it.

Deer Hunter: hey i got these scripts from the 'mergeny room here in town cuz i was out to the river today an' i had my meds in my backpack an' i slid down the river bank an' my backpack came off an' i lost my meds can you fill these for me?

This time DH had brought backup in the form of Deer Hunter Mother. She was clearly in charge here.

DHM: My boy needs his med-i-ka-shun! How long will this take?

Me: Just a few minutes. If you would like to have a seat, I'll let you know just as soon as...

DH: Yeah I need 'em cuz I take these real regular an' if I stop...

Me: Yes, I'm aware. Please take a seat. This won't take long.

Did I mention DH was shirtless? The young man had obviously been out to the river shirtless as well, as evidenced by the very nasty sunburn that was now resident on the upper half of his body. About this time, the night manager wandered by. Last nights manager was the type of woman who takes Zero Shit from anybody. I love her precisely for that reason. As soon as she spotted DH, she immediately decided to lay down the law.

Manager (addressing DH): You gotta shirt? You can't be in here without a shirt.

DH: I got second degree burns...

DHM: He's got second degree burns all over...

At this point, I managed to catch Manager's eye and telegraphed to her that I had the situation under control (so far) and that I would radio for backup if necessary. She tipped me a wink and continued about her work.

Those of you in the field will know that DH's insurance claims were promptly rejected by Medicaid because he had just filled a months supply recently. The medications he was aiming to replace would cost about $70 out of pocket. I motioned DHM to the counter. I assumed she was the one funding this little adventure. DH had also already fled the scene.

I explained how much the medication would cost and why. DHM accepted my explanation with no malice, stating that she would go to DH's regular pharmacy in the morning and take care of it. I was glad DH was not present, as he would have undoubtedly had a Class I Nuclear Meltdown in the pharmacy. When you tell junkies they have to go without their fix for any extended period of time, they tend to get a bit upset.

The best part? The Manager had her eye on DH from the second he entered the store, and caught him shoplifting a cane (of all things) on his way out. As DHM was paying for a few other very necessary purchases at the pharmacy upon concluding our business (soda and potato chips) Manager approached and informed DHM that her sticky fingered son owed the store for one (1) cane. DHM stammered out an apology and counted out some bills on the counter. I bit my lip, allowing the better half to fight the battle.

I've been on the Medicaid rant before. This is just another great example of how dumb people breed dumb(er) people who make many bad decisions that all the rest of the tax paying populace gets to pay for. DH went and got loaded at the river, sustained a second degree sunburn, and lost his medication. Good fucking deal.

DH strutted proudly away from the pharmacy with his new cane-enabled gait, and the very ground shook. Jesus wept, and all the philistines cast out their nets.