*non-food post coming. Just warning you in case you’re here looking for another example of my witty culinary humor–don’t want you to be disappointed.
Contrary to popular belief (and I am popular, just check out all the people who think they know me on Facebook…), my life doesn’t revolve around food. Alright, you know me better than that. It’s a lie. But I do manage to work in other events during my day where chewing and swallowing are not involved, if indirectly.
Earlier this week, while in line at CVS for the second time in 9 minutes (the first time I was told my Vicodin Rx wasn’t called in by my sadistic endodontist and I made a quick call from my car to verify it had been. Interestingly enough it’d already been put into the insurance system but not filled. Hmmm…), I was thoroughly put off by the whiny crush of humans seeking pills of all kinds (my god, what a lucrative industry…) that I began entertaining myself while eavesdropping on their sad state of why they needed more pills in such a short period of time.
I made three startling observations:
1. People take too many damn drugs. Seriously. I mean, I know some people need to. But some of you need to wean yourself off the crap. I feel like an addict taking less than half a dozen Vicodin for a root canal gone awry, and it’s the first Vicodin RX I’ve had in my life. Pills are not the answer (except in some cases).
2. The more shiny the package, the more expensive the cheap chocolate. Luckily, for me, the end cap near the pharmacy is loaded to the gills with Valentine’s stuff. Yeah. Seriously. It was actually put up the day after New Year’s. Speaking of sadistic.
3. Santa would not make a good pharmacist.
Allow me to elaborate…
On the wall to the left of the busy pharmacy (I wonder if yesterday was directly related to the great welfare check rush every month at the post office that mom used to comment on regularly) (she was postal for almost 40 years, she can say whatever she damn well pleases about the USPS) were three wooden plaques beside a plastic sign that said “Meet Your Pharmacists”. I know I felt safer knowing my Vicodin were coming to me having carefully been counted out by Jim and/or Lynn. But someone’s Christmas decorating holiday joke wasn’t sitting well with me. (Ironically, this display had to be the *only* non-Valentine’s themed display in the entire store. Had it been Cupid drawing his bow beside Jim and/or Lynn, we’d have a different essay.)
Santa was the third pharmacist. For this photo op, he’d chosen a smartly tailored red suit edged by crisp, white fur with a matching cap. He was, indeed, checking his list for the third time, scroll of parchment still in his hand and greeted anyone who noticed him with a jovially winking eye from behind his gold-rimmed spectacles.
I’m not saying Santa isn’t smart enough to become a pharmacist. Working in his climate with elves and reindeer and other wintery-based creatures, it’d probably be a wise investment for him to have some medical training and save himself on employer-paid insurance premiums. I’m saying that it’s a little creepy to think the big guy has an eye on what kind of drugs we’re serving ourselves from the pharmacy.
Here’s the scene that played out in my head while the bustle of pill-seekers grew to epically loud proportion around me and my chocolate end cap: Santa in his santa throne with a scrolling list of every prescription that comes through the pharmacy. He’s gotta read it before they dispense it. Now it’s not just intuition that tells him if you’ve been naughty or nice.
It’s also your Rx history and all the naughty and nice choices that led to said prescription.
I think some of you will be in serious trouble. Not my brother, with his lineup of drugs to keep his ticker ticking after a triple bypass, or aunt Nancy and her cholesterol-lowering pills. Or my posse of diabetic camp friends who rely on insulin since their pancreases let them down. Not even old people who get suckered in to thinking something’s wrong with them by the doctor who only wants them to visit so he gets a bigger hit of Medicare (you know who you are).
No, I’m referring to those needing a “rush” order of Viagra because you’re headed to Vegas. Or Valtrex because you got too drunk (again) ran into your ex-boyfriend (again), wound up at his house (again) doing things with your mouth that require you to take Valtrex (again) for those little “spots” you get “only at the change of the seasons”. Or, my personal favorite, Latisse, the one that warns of potential of blindness caused by bacteria, change in eye color and possible unintentional facial hair growth–all in the name of thicker lashes.
Do you think Santa considers Sin City sexcapades, sleeping around and vanity as bullet points on the naughty or nice list? I have a hunch the lump of coal in your stockings, if Santa were a pharmacist, to be the least of your worries if you’re on his ‘list’.
So, for now, I’m happy with Jim and/or Lynn as my pharmacists, even if my Rx gets screwed up, requires two phone calls, a massive splitting headache/toothache and the chance to witness the glory of humanity as they all huddle around the pharmacist’s white counter like plane crash survivors in Antarctica would huddle around their last, dying fire. The less St. Nick knows, the better for all of us.
P.S.: Santa, I only used four of the Vicodin. I’ll leave the rest out with the cookies and milk next year. My best to the elves!