When assholes strike

Dear Mr. LawyerAsshole,

Thanks so much for coming to my pharmacy and asking for us to transfer your prescription from a competing pharmacy to us. We really do appreciate your interest in using our pharmacy for your future prescriptions. What we DON’T appreciate is you being in such a hurry that you decide to take your old prescription bottle with you before we get a chance to copy down the phone number of Competing Pharmacy so that we can call them to get your transfer.  When I kindly called you to get the pharmacy phone number from you (which is printed on the prescription bottle that you took with you), you decided to tell me that I need to “focus more”, and you decided to inform me that it was my job to get the number. When I told you that unfortunately I don’t have a list of phone numbers for competing pharmacies, you decided to be a dick and tell me “I’m a lawyer, I don’t have them either. I’m not information, I’m not giving you that…it’s Competing Pharmacy at the corner of Street A and Street B”. Because if I were to ask you for a phone number for any competing law firm in the area, YOU’D totally know the phone number too. When I POLITELY explained to you AGAIN that I needed the phone number off of the bottle that you took with you in order to do the transfer, you refused to give me the number AGAIN (when it’s written ON YOUR FUCKING BOTTLE) by straight up saying “No, I’m not giving you the number!”, and then decided to be even more of a dick and cut me off by saying “I’m tired of talking to you, just have it ready for me by tonight,” and hang up on me. You’re just lucky that the other pharmacist actually happened to know which Competing Pharmacy you were talking about, and managed to dig up the number, otherwise I would’ve told you to fuck off, because no phone number means no transfer, and you would’ve been awwwwfully pissed off that your medication wasn’t ready because you DIDN’T GIVE ME A PHONE NUMBER TO CALL TO BEGIN WITH. Fuck you, and thanks for making me feel like four years of school has only earned me a Doctor’s degree in dealing with shitheads like you all day.

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Killing me softly…

Work has been killing me. They’ve cut hours at my place, meaning instead of having me plus 2 other technicians scrambling around to get shit done at peak hours, we now only have me plus 1 other tech scrambling around to get even MORE shit done, due to the lack of a 3rd scrambling person to help. So when you’ve got 3 calls on hold, two people sitting in the drive-thru, 2 more people waiting at the register, and more people in line dropping off new prescriptions, basic math will tell you that 2 bodies are NOT enough to cover all of that. And inevitably, when you finish ringing up everyone at the register and you FINALLY pick up those phone calls, the people on the phone are annoyed with you for being on hold for so long. Or when you finally finish with the people dropping off scripts and get to the drive thru, the people in drive-thru are annoyed with you for waiting so long. Or any other combination of events, take your pick. So at the end of the day, we’re drained out, and we’ve had people throwing pissy fits at us all day because surprise! We don’t have enough people to help! And when we don’t have enough people to help, people end up waiting longer, and when people wait for a long time, surprise again! They get impatient (and at times rightfully so) and throw bitch fits at us. And of course, when someone throws a bitch fit, it takes us even longer than usual to help them, because we have to take time to apologize and calm them down before we even begin to figure out what they wanted in the first place. I could freakin’ draw a graph on this whole situation if I wanted to…bottom line is that when we don’t have enough help, people end up waiting longer. When people wait longer, they get pissy. When people get pissy, it takes us even LONGER to help them out than usual due to additional bitch fit management measures that we have to take, and therefore it makes the people behind pissy person #1 wait even LONGER in line, quickly transforming them into pissy person #2…and it leads to a wonderful loop of bitch fits and increased wait times.

I don’t eat, I don’t use the bathroom, and I’m pretty sure all this is going to result in a coronary bypass operation in the next 10 years or so. So the next time you see your pharmacist and you wonder 1) why it takes so long to get some service, and 2) why she looks like she’d rather stab herself in the eye with a spatula than answer the drive-thru, think of me and my poor technicians who have to frantically run around like decapitated chickens. And no, I don’t know why we don’t stock flavored condoms, so please stop wasting my time so I can help the other 20 million people waiting in line.

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More fun on the intercom…

According to my shift supervisor’s intercom announcements, apparently I have:

• Given birth to twins named Shakitha and Sharifa
• Taken leave for Canada

Funny enough, I was ringing up a customer when he announced that I was moving to Canada, and the customer actually asked where in Canada I was going, because he used to live in Calgary. I had to break the news to the guy that I wasn’t going anywhere. I’m thinking by the end of the month he’ll be announcing alien abductions too.

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