(I couldn’t stop myself from venting about this after my fiasco of an experience yesterday…)
Dear Mr. Pharmacist-type person,
I’m sure you’re just doing your “job” in an attempt to be overly thorough. Or perhaps you’re just new at it, and doing your job the way it was originally intended (and subsequently seen as ‘overkill’ by those who have been at it for a while). Or maybe you thought I was just some young, stupid Army wife who can’t read, or something. But Mr. Pharmacist AKA Killer of Any Remaining Joy, I beg of you, if I’m there with four of my six children in tow, SICK children in fact, and we’re all red-eyed, teary, sniffly, coughing and whiny, and I’m hunched over your desk desperately picking up eleventy-billion friggin’ medicines from you for all of us, please, for the love of whatever you consider holy, DO NOT STOP AND TAKE THE TIME TO READ ALL ELEVENTY-BILLION LABELS TO ME, ONE AT A TIME!
Dude, my kids were literally about to set friggin’ FIRE to the pharmacy, and there you were talking to me like I was four-years-old, instructing me on how, when and with whom to administer each set of medications. I mean, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, do you not have children? Did you not see snotty noses, coughing and kids tugging at their ears, wanting their naps and lunch?
But noooo, you had to take the time to READ. EACH. STINKIN’. LABEL. and then ask me which kid was which, so you could then POINT. EACH. KID’S. MEDICINE. OUT to me. Are you @$%&*&*% kidding me? Do I have a big “I’m an idiot” sign on my forehead?
Oh yeah, I do, for having to take four sick kids to the doctor’s by myself, and expect the pharmacist not be a douche-bag. My mistake.
{bangs head}
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