Paper or Plastic?
It started innocently enough.
About 3 days ago, I put in a call to the pharmacy to renew these drugs the doc has me on that he claims are keeping me alive. Heh. I haven't had the heart to tell him that what keeps any of us alive is that it just isn't yet our time to die, and when that time DOES come, none of his pills will give me one more breath and that is simply that. But... for the sake of controlled folly, I take the pills and that means having to deal with the WalMart pharmacy. So... when I called in the renewal, never talking to a person, of course, but only conversing electronically with the robo-druggie-pusher-multi-menu-we're-here-to-help-you device, I was informed by a properly stoned-sounding robot-voice, "This prescription is ready for pick-up."
So this morning I drive down to the store - which is like something out of a bad Twilight Zone episode due to some major remodeling which has the cat food where the drugs used to be and the drugs where the toilet paper once was - but to my great surprise and satisfaction, there was no one in line! (In Yucca Valley, the REAL good drugs are only available from the crack house at the corner, where there's ALWAYS a long line - but that's another story altogether). So, I give the gum-chewing girl behind the counter my name... date of birth... mother's maiden name... grandmother's blood type... and tap out with one foot the value of pi to the 12th decimal point... only to be told, "Gee, that's not ready yet. Come back tomorrow and bring me the broomstick of the wicked witch."
Fortunately, the pharmacist was standing at her window looking bored to death, and to her credit, intervened on my behalf, promising to have them ready in 20 minutes. Okay - I had no other shopping to do, but went on a grand safari to locate the camera & electronics counter (which is now where the shoes once were, but don't tell anybody), farted around for the requested 20 minutes, then returned to the pharmacy to discover a line of at least 20 people waiting to pick up their various & sundry fix-it-pills. Rolled my eyes (I admit it), got in line behind an elderly woman who insisted on telling me all about her hemorrhoids and her grandchildren's new puppy that couldn't stop pooping on the stairs - right down to the gory details about the consistency of said poop, and how the house now smelled like a shit factory (her words), and it was all the fault of her daughter's goddamn new husband, The Lazy Bastard.
By the time the old bat got to the pick-up window, my ears were bleeding and I'd developed a spastic tic in my left eye, but at least I was next and that was some sort of relief. So when I get to the counter and encounter the gum-chewing girl again, I'm asked to go through the same rigamarole as before. Name, date of birth, mother's maiden name... and by the way, ma'am, where's that broomstick I asked you for?
I'm sure by now you all think I'm going to say the prescription wasn't ready, but actually it was. Three different drugs, two of which the girl shoves in a bag and staples shut. She then places the third prescription on the counter and with a smile, says, "The pharmacist needs to talk to you about this drug."
It's one I've been taking for a year. "It's one I've been taking for a year!" I protest, looking at the OTHER line - the line to visit the wizard - which stretches through six aisles, out the back door, and disappears over the curvature of the earth somewhere in the vicinity of Santa Monica. "What's the problem?"
The girl softens a bit. "Well, actually it's just the new rules. I can't put that prescription in a bag because of how it's packaged."
I stared at her. It's a flat little ditty that looks something like birth control pills - but ain't.
"What do you mean you can't put it in a bag? You put the other two in a bag. Just shove it in with them."
"I can't do that," the girl insists. "It's the rules. The pharmacist has to put that in a bag for you because it's a flat package."
By now I'm looking around for the hidden film crew, waiting for some asshole with a microphone to jump out from behind the condom aisle to tell me I'm on candid fucking camera.
"You are joking, right?" I say to her.
"No ma'am. Those are the rules. You'll have to get in line."
I am overhearing the pharmacist talking to some elderly gentleman about his heart medications. Surely she has better things to do than put something in a bag.
So I decided to lean on their rules a bit. "I'm sorry, but I have another appointment, and I simply don't have the hiking gear on me to go scouting for wherever it is that the line ends."
By now, the girl has turned to the next customer and is giving them much the same schtick. I see on the counter a line of these must-be-bagged-by-the-pharmacist items, and notice that mine is at the end of the line. The gum-chewing girl is distracted, and so I reach over the counter, grab the box as if it contains prize cannibis rather than some generic cholesterol meds, and shove it in the bag with the other stuff - all of which has been paid for, so it's not like I'm taking something that isn't mine.
"Ma'am!" the girl shrieks. "I'm sorry, but you can't do that! You're breaking the rules!"
"So put it on my permanent record," I shoot back, walking toward the door.
"Ma'am!" she protests, more shrill now. "I'm going to have to call security!"
Well, I know for a fact that the YV Walmart doesn't even HAVE security. I used to be friends with several of their cashiers, who often laughed about the fact that the store loses more than $7K per day to shoplifting.
"You do that, sweetie," I said with a smile. "If they tackle me before I get to the back door, I'll surrender and throw down my weapons."
She puts the phone down and glares at me with the kind of angst only a teenage girl can muster. "If you DON'T stand in line, I'm going to have to ask you to leave!"
Had to laugh. It hit my head like... 'If you don't stay, I'll have to ask you to go.'
So, at her request, I left.
No Rules Police came to arrest me. No state troopers were waiting at the door, guns drawn. No senior citizen door greeter smashed my knee caps with a cane.
The world is a nuthouse and the lunatics are STILL running the asylum.
Bag it.
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