Recent Ridiculousness

Ok, I know it has been quite a long time (full of weeping and gnashing of the teeth) since my last post, but give your jaws and eyes a rest because your grief-stricken days are over for now. A lot has occurred in the world during my hiatus, and I would like to address a couple of those things.

Avatar practically bombed at the Oscars, which gives me fuzzy feelings inside knowing that the ever-pompous James Cameron has run out of tears and has severely inflamed ducts due to his non-stop cry-fest since being beaten out by his ex-wife. Ha! Jerk!

The world seems to be taking a very brief vacation from swooning over those long-toothed, blood-gurgling, undead freaks from Twilight just long enough to embrace the needs-to-be-constantly-mostly-naked-with-crazy-glasses-and-a-disturbingly-unhuman-face, talentless, transgender known affectionately as Lady Gaga. What, exactly, is the draw to her? She has the face of an Ewok (those creepy, bear-like creatures from Star Wars), and the singing prowess of a Pussycat Doll being prodded in the neck with a hot iron (sort of like Poker Face – get it?).

Anywho…

People need to stop giving dumb names to their children. At the pharmacy there are really dumb ones, like Treasure, Heaven, Darwin, and even one named Messiah. Are you kidding me? Unless you are setting forth a path for your whiny brats to become leaders of some new, religious movement (Darwin/Messiah) or full-on, low-class, trashy, strippers (Treasure/Heaven), stop giving your children ridiculous names. I know as a parent you have the power to assign your unfortunate offspring with whatever ludicrous moniker your cruel, black heart desires, but think about what you are doing to those children before you send them out into the world to be thoroughly humiliated by my kids, Superfly, Ninja Dragon, and Queen Emma The Awesome.

Some guy came in complaining to Senior Jackie Chan that someone opened his kid’s bottle of liquid antibiotic. Really people?

A lady, whose attitude suggested that she regularly feasts upon the still-living bodies of mice, children, hobos, and new-born kittens, was giving me hell the other day. She was irritated that we didn’t magically have her new insurance information on file. I updated the system and reran the claim through her not-magically inputted insurance. I was ringing up her transaction and counting down the seconds to the glorious exit of the latest kitty-eating, slack-jaw the fine city of Katy has to offer when she pulled out a discount voucher from the pharmaceutical. I died for a few moments, and unfortunately came back to life with the lady still there. I explained that I would have to enter the voucher information and run her Rx through yet again. This, of course, took her by complete surprise (magic expected again), and she mumbled something inappropriate in a sinister-yet-hushed screech. I was about to come back with something to this pet raven of the devil that would be completely satisfying, unabashedly malicious, and sure to get me fired (Oh no, no more CVS!!! Millions of fake freaking tears…), when I read something on the voucher that amused me. Written in bold with lots of capitalized and underlined words, “Hand this to the pharmacist when DROPPING OFF your prescription NOT when PICKING UP your medication!” That is a bingo!!!

The Cylinders have stop coming in to fill!!! YAY!!!

Lastly, a guy walks up to the counter. The normal indifferent, exchange of existence acknowledgments take place, and he tells me the name of the person for which he is picking up medication. How many? He has no clue. I verify the medications with him. He has no clue. I could have told him I have three medications for your stupid kid, rat poison, cocaine, and marshmallows – he would still have that classic, brain-dead look on his face. The man calls his wife to make sure he is supposed to be picking up eye drops for his poor, poor, kids with allergies. I can hear her bantering on about how her precious little princess has watery, red eyes and is just minutes from an excruciating, untimely (yet in my opinion deserving) death. Verification verified, and ready to move on…nope! The guy who is still wearing his $300 Oakley sunglasses and $2,000, ugly Bulova watch cannot believe that Medicaid did not completely cover his kid’s allergy eye drops. The co pay is $20. He calls his wife again, and makes me talk to her. She is half-pleading, half-scolding me about charging her too much. I try to explain to her how Medicaid decides how much the co pay is as I am not in the habit of adding money to people’s medications to get some extra gas money. She screams something about not having $20 right now and hangs up the phone. Die, come back to life, and die again you government-tax-payer-scamming uber-B…

More to come later.

The Cylinder Conundrum

So, NBC has really screwed the pooch on the whole Leno/Conan/Fallon thing. Conan, bless his heart, has really stepped up his monologue to stick it to executives before he forces their hand (a hand clutching $40 million dollars in contract buyout severance – Bwahahaha!). Letterman has also got in his stabs. I thought I would have a go at trying to be both pithy and clever… It seems to me that the station’s acronym should now stand for Notoriously Breaching Contracts or Now Bumping Conan. To Leno it should be Never Be Carson, or at the very least, Nothing But Chin. I know - that was lame…

Moving on to pharmacy happenings, I present one of the latest. There is a family of either druggies or dealers – we are not quite sure. They share the name of a certain three dimensional geometric figure, I will refer to them as…The Cylinders. The Cylinders purchase many of the items one would find in your local Crackheads R Us store (Vicodin, Flexeril, Adderall, Soma, Ultram, Vyvanse, etc.). Needless to say, their family medicine cabinet has a lovely rainbow of illicit drugs.

Well, the other day the younger brother calls advising me (how sweet) to contact his doctor to get a refill of tramadol. I roll my eyes, and tell the delightful minion of Satan that I will call his doctor – but merely to buy time to investigate the matter. I pull up young Cylinder’s profile and notice he filled an Rx for the very drug only one week prior, but pain medication can be written to be completely dispensed in just a few days so I pull up the prescription to have a look-see at the directions. It was “1TPOQDPP”, which I am sure you all recognize as “Take one tablet by mouth every day as needed for pain”.

It should last a month, and the little cracked-lip, throat-scratcher is asking to fill it after one week. Hell to the no! I confirm with the bearded one that we will not comply with his wishes and become the middle supplier to his drug ring. I try to call him out of combination of a little bit of courtesy and a larger bit of gloating. His number has been disconnected – big shock.

He calls back later, and our lovely “lead technician” does me the “favor” of letting Mr. Cylinder hold until I get back from the bathroom to answer his call (YAY!). I tell him we will fill his prescription when his other one runs out – next month. His reply was something like, “BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, boo-freaking-hoo, whiny-whiny-cry-cry…” “Why?” he kept asking. He then tells me he is a pharmacy technician. I manage to avoid laughing at him, crying with big, fat tears of utter amusement, dropping the phone because of moron-induced convulsions, and (finally) hitting my head on the counter and passing out. Mr. Cylinder tells me that we have to honor an order from a doctor, we cannot refuse a non-controlled prescription, and other ways of saying we are being unfair meanie-heads full of poop…

I tell him various ways of “No” for fifteen minutes before he demands to talk with the pharmacist. The bearded one also tells him “No”, and he hangs up the phone. End of dilemma…

…or not! His older brother gets a different doctor to call in cyclobenzaprine (a muscle relaxer) the next day. Unfortunately for both Cylinders, the bearded one is once again manning the counter above the narcotics safe. Senor beard-o one-o (that’s how you write it in Spanish) explained to the doctor what kind of drugs he gets and how often he gets them. The doctor changed his mind and denied any more prescriptions! The cherry on top of this drug-stuffed cake – the older brother came in to pick up his younger brother’s medicine, and we got to tell him that the doctor doesn’t want to give him any more drugs! YAY! Druggie denied!

Until next time…

Two Recollections

It has been quite awhile since my last posting. This can be mainly attributed to the numbing, soul-killing, Godless, monotony that one gets fully enveloped in by being the unwarranted recipient of the average pharmacy patron's crazy that spills forth like the contagious, viscous drool of the undead. Having to endure the ludicrous goings-on of my pharmaceutical, lake-of-fire, tends to desensitize my recognition of the truly bizarre occurrences one would normally associate as being noteworthy. This, however, had to change due to several people requesting another entry into this blog. I tried to pay close attention and weed out some interesting tidbits for all of you - and yes, I wrote "tidbits" (it's a fun word). Here are a couple of the recent activities that have illuminated just how messed up the people of this planet are:

A lady all but screaming at a co-worker for being asked to see her driver's license. Seriously, the old woman twisted up her withered, straight-out-of-The-Mummy face and hissed, "I can't believe this! I have never been asked to do this!" She transformed into some over-the-top, Disney-created villain played by some sort of nasty, cranky vulture, and then she swallowed a baby whole (in my mind at least).

Some guy called the day before leaving town to get a refill on his Valtrex. It was out of refills, so he was informed that we would have to fax the doctor for more. He went off on how he desperately needs it, the doctor's office is closed for the holidays, blah, blah, blah (shoot me). He wanted us to loan him some. The pharmacist, of course, said it was not an important, maintenance drug - so no. The guy went berserk! "How dare you tell me I can't get any! I need to take this sh*t right f*cking now..." He kept going, but I can't recall what he said because I was laughing to myself envisioning a snarling, roaring, man-bear on the phone with festering, oozing crotch-rot. Bwahahahaha! No man-bear, you should have thought about that before hooking up with some tramp you met at Moe's. It's not our fault you waited to the last possible moment to make sure you had enough antivirals for your disgusting package. Maybe suffering through an "outbreak" will teach you to stop being so myopic.

Until next time please post some comments so I know someone is reading this drivel, and nothing too mean.
Peace out...