I very unwisely picked The World’s Most Disorganized Pharmacy at which to get my daughter’s meds.
No matter when I call in my prescription, I always have to stand in line for 15 – 20 minutes while they go hunting for it behind the counter, tripping over unseen stuff on the floor, bumping into each other, getting all flustered because they can’t find anything in the jumble of prescription bags stacked up on every available surface.
They always seem to screw up and/or lose the prescriptions of 75% of the people in line ahead of me and then, at least half the time, screw up mine as well. It never fails to be a lengthy adventure.
I could conceivably put up with this once every couple of months if they didn’t also employ criminally insane cashiers.
One of them just is a little insane –a tad scary in an over-caffeinated way. But at least tries to be friendly to some of us.
Unfortunately it’s an intrusive, long-winded friendly. She always wants to draw you into a big discussion about your personal life while 15 people are waiting behind you.
“No, I don’t want your do-doubt very professional cashier’s advice on additional drugs I might want to consider for my daughter.” And, “You’re right, I haven’t told you exactly what she’s taking the drugs for.” And, “Sorry, I don’t have time to speculate on why your husband won’t go a little bit out of his way to pick you up on his way home from work.”
She’s nuts, but I can deal with her.
But then there’s the angry, rude, wild-eyed, agitated criminally insane cashier.
I’ve only had her twice, because, as she proclaims loudly each time, this isn’t her usual job. She’s back there behind the counter amongst all the drugs cursing a blue streak.
“Where the fruck did you guys put yesterday’s shit?” “Why can’t I make this friggin’ cash register go?”
I had her last weekend. After waiting in line the requisite 20 minutes, it was finally my turn. When the pharmacist hurriedly threw my prescription bottle and official receipt into one of their little trays and handed it to her to ring up, the agitated criminally insane cashier gets all frantic and starts asking everyone behind and in front of the counter, loudly and with a really mean scowl: “What the hell is this? Why does she get a basket? What the hell does that mean? Does that mean anything? What am I supposed to do with this basket?”
One of the several seemingly normal people milling around behind the counter tried to calm her down and explain the situation, instructing her on what to do next. The criminally insane one glares at me, dumps the prescription and receipt on the counter and thrusts the tray/basket at me. (None of this was included in the instructions on what to do next.)
I put the tray aside and lay my other purchases on the counter for her to ring up along with the prescription. Then, feeling particularly stupid and fed up that day, I say, “You know, you have an odd customer service attitude.”
“I do?” she asks incredulously, angrily, twitchingly. “What the hell did I do?”
“That,” I say. “All this helling and fruckin’ and friggin’ stuff. All the shouting and complaining and throwing stuff around in front of the customers.”
“I don’t know what your problem is. I never did that.”
“Okaaaaaay,” I say.
“You know, if you don’t like your job, maybe you should look for something less stressful and less public.”
“Oh, I love my job.” She snaps. “It’s just some of the customers I hate.” She adds, glaring at me pointedly.
At this, the seemingly normal woman reaches over and punches the criminally insane one in the arm. Hard. So hard it makes the criminally insane one actually stumble sideways.
Everybody in line shuffles nervously and looks around. I’m thinking they, like me, are probably seeking escape routes.
The criminally insane one, suspiciously subdued now, hands me my bag and says, “Have a nice day.”
She makes it sound like, “Fuck off and die.”
I get home and find out she forgot to charge me for the most expensive item I’d bought. I thought about going back, but it was pretty cold out.
Then I was back in the store yesterday (far away from the pharmacy section) when the criminally insane one walks by.
She stops. Stares at me. And in a voice loud enough for everyone within 20 feet to hear, says, “Oh my god! Now I’m going to puke!”
I’m thinking of changing pharmacies.