Befriending cops FTW.

So there's a police officer who I've been helping extensively over the past week with some insurance issues, and a thing here or there with his doctor. We'll call him Officer Jones. He's gotten about the best customer service I have to offer, which is pretty damn excellent, if I may say so myself. Prompt, courteous, pleasant, knowledgeable, charming, the whole thing. Almost everyone gets pretty good customer service from me, but if I like you, then you get my best material.

Anyway he came back last night before he started his shift to drop off some scripts for his daughter and to see if I'd sorted out his wife's insurance--which I did. As he's waiting in line to talk to me, the patient I'm helping is being a real asshole, trying to bully me, swearing, the works.

He started flipping out saying that I lost his Xanax script, which is bullshit, and perhaps if he wasn't in such a drug-induced stupor, he would have realized this. Eventually he looks in his pocket and lo and behold, there's the script he was accusing me of stealing. He stormed off without an apology, of course.

Officer Jones, next in line, hands me a few scripts and then says, "Well I'll be damned. One of our frequent fliers. Was he giving you trouble?"

I said, "Well, yeah he was being incredibly rude."

"Then excuse me for a second," he says and he walks over to where the guy is standing, shifty eyed.

"Johnny!" says officer Jones, grabbing him by his arm. "I haven't seen you in a few weeks, what have you been up to? I hope I don't have to tell your parole officer any bad news!" He guides Johnny to the corner where they chat for a while. Johnny shifted uncomfortably and seemed to really need a Xanax or two about then.

Officer Jones comes back a few minutes later and tells me, chuckling a bit, "He won't be causing any problems here anymore. By the way, you've been taking good care of me and my family. If you ever need anything, just call and ask for me. I patrol this area. I'm going to make sure to swing by here every now and then during my shift."

Woo-hoo! Drug Depot isn't being robbed tonight!

I wish he could stick around and deal with every rude junkie that comes in.

The moral of the story is: be nice to cops. :)

--IISgirl ... back to school

Drive-Thru dummy

Since we moved to our new location in January, not many of our customers have utilized our drive-thru system (thank god!). I am guessing that because the drive-thru works through tubes and monitors it is far too advanced for many of our brainiac patients to comprehend. However, in the past few months that I have worked full time, the number of idiots tinkering with that godforsaken contraption has gone up considerably from none to about 3 a week. That probably doesn't sound like a lot but these customers are so terribly idiotic, it takes about 15 min for them to get their medicine, pay, and go away.

One guy who used our system looked like a big, important business man. Driving up in his Benz and sporting an incredibly expensive business suit, one would think this man would have some common sense. Ahhh..but once again my confidence in the human intelligence has failed me. He was impatient and could not wait for the container to send the money so he thew his credit card into the pneumatic tube system and pressed 'send'. His credit card flew up the tube and got stuck half way! Long story short...he ended up coming into the pharmacy, yelling and screaming. Fortunately with a push of the container and a little help from gravity his shiny black American Express card can go back home into his Gucci wallet.

One other user would come out of the car and stick her eye into the camera lens on the monitor as if it was a door that I was hiding behind. Of course she would refuse to come the 50 feet into the building toward the pharmacy and would yell at the camera for her Vicodin. After telling her that her insurance won't pay for it until after 3 days, she would stampede around her car and scream. Two days later she came again, stepped out of the car into the sweltering 90 degree weather and once again demand for her pain pills. I reminded her about her insurance and told her it won't be covered until the next day. Again she let out a scream but this time she kicked the side of the tube system (probably hurting her foot and causing more need of the vicodin), sat back into her 1980-something bonneville then slammed her door shut and raced off my screen.

The same situation happened again the following month.

I am thinking that a DVR should be installed and attached to the cameras so moments like these can be recorded and posted on YouTube for all of the world and laugh at this lady's crazy shenanigans.

By the way...school starts this week. :( Bummer.
Goodluck to everyone with their classes. And congrats to the upcoming P1s!

I know we have been kind of lazy with the postings; but I assure you that because IISGirl and I are back in the classroom, we'll have the time to update and keep up with the blog!

Brain Medicine!

I think a zombie came into Drug Depot today.

In a rare lull of activity, our pharmacist and our techs disappeared to the bathroom, the candy aisle, and who knows where else, leaving me all by my lonesome in the pharmacy.

While I was sitting and staring off down aisle 4, a tall man wearing a motorcycle helmet, a taped up pair of sunglasses, flip-flops, red sweat pants and a rain coat (it was sunny and about 90 degrees outside) was making a beeline toward the pharmacy... right up to the pharmacy gate.

My first thoughts upon seeing him were, This is not a normal human being. His gait was an irregular, jerky stagger, right out of a George Romero film, and his right hand never left his coat pocket.

Our gate doesn't lock. Really, it's just a swinging door. The zombie was pushing on it, about to invade.

Ah, shit.

"Can I help you?" I ask, keeping the production counter between the zombie and I. His right hand is still gripping something large in the pocket of his rain coat. I get a distinct sense of déjà vu. The last time someone staggered up to me and I couldn't see his hands, I had a gun in my face a few seconds later. You don't forget a thing like that. I make a mental note of his features for the police report I will hopefully be alive to make later on.

"I NEED BRAIN MEDICINE."

Yes, you surely do, I think to myself.

The zombie pushes the door open. His right hand moves in his pocket. I'm getting scared.

"Sir, you can't enter the pharmacy!" I say.

"BRAIN MEDICINE!"

The door swings back and hits him in the kneecaps, but he doesn't move or anything.

Um. I pick up the phone and try to decide whether or not I should page The Law back from the bathroom to help me out, or if I should call the police. Maybe he just needs his Seroquel refilled or something. Although I don't recognize him as one of our patients, and you'd think I'd remember someone like that. I decide I should page The Law, and meanwhile try to figure out what this so-called Brain Medicine is.

Before I get a chance to do so, the zombie staggers away just as mysteriously as he appeared, back down aisle 4. I'm not sure what became of him.

--IISgirl ... I need a day off!

hehe.

Victory! Sweet victory!

One of my arch-nemeses from high school dropped off some very embarrassing prescriptions today.

Unfortunately, HIPAA prevents me from reveling (and revealing) too much.

I'm trying not to be too vindictive, but this person went above and beyond to make my high school years miserable, so I deserve a little chuckle at their expense.

So, itch away my friend. Feel the burn. : )

--IISgirl ... today was a true test of maintaining my professional demeanor. I passed!

Grr.

Drug Depot does NOT have a public restroom. So whenever anyone wants to use it, they have to go find someone at the front counter, threaten to shit the floor, and then they'll open the staff restroom.

Tonight I spent a good 30 minutes working on an insurance claim, and by the time I finally got a chance to talk to a human being at the help desk, my back teeth were floating. I finally got off the phone with Medco and made a mad dash to the bathroom, only to see a huge (I'm talking 400+ lbs here) woman come waddling out, a smug look on her face.

My face looked like this:

D-:

Knowing I would not get another chance to pee for the rest of the night, I did not turn back. I took my chances. I cracked the door open and only to find that the entire bathroom reeked of week old piss and B.O. I slammed the door shut.

No kidding, my eyes started watering. I grabbed the Lysol, cracked the door just wide enough to get my arm in, and started spraying.

DAMMIT!

The can was empty!

Desperate, I cracked open the men's bathroom to check the situation there, but things there weren't much better

I ran to aisle 12 and grabbed more Lysol and emptied half the can into the women's bathroom, but dammit, now it just smelled like lemons and B.O.

I tried to just hold my breath and hurry up. I couldn't get out of there quickly enough.

To top things off, I'm asthmatic, and the oxygen had pretty much been displaced from the room by the Lysol, and I came back out wheezing. Being the noncompliant asthmatic that I am, I hadn't bothered to refill my inhalers this month, and had to huff and puff my way back to the pharmacy to get those, too.

I hate it when they let customers use our bathroom!

Dammit I can't wait to leave the retail world, not only are we overworked, not only do we not get breaks, but christ, even the privacy, the dignity, the cleanliness of the bathroom is compromised, and that's just not right!

--IISgirl ... go use McDonald's bathroom next time!!

It was kind of a slow evening.

So there I was at Drug Depot, typing the following prescription:

Lamisil 1% cream
Apply to a.a. BID as directed x 1 week
#1 tube

Now, at Drug Depot, Terbinafine cream comes in a box that either says "Athlete's Foot Relief" or "Jock Itch Relief." I was standing in the OTC aisle, wondering to what "affected area" the patient was applying said cream, and which box I should select.

It wasn't a hard choice, really--of course I was going to give them the Jock Itch box, just for comedic value.

Jock Itch Relief box in hand, I went back to my computer to finish typing the prescription. Squinting to figure out the doctor's name, I suddenly burst out laughing, because it was incredibly apropos, almost as apropos as an orthopedic surgeon having the last name of Bones.

Let's just say this doctor's last name combined two words that quite literally mean pruritus of the genitalia, but in slightly cruder language. Oh the irony, Dr. Pruritisofthegenitalia prescribing medication to treat the very condition for which he is named!

Maybe I'm immature, but I thought it was funny.

Oh yeah some chick with MRSA came in tonight, too. It was kind of her to tell me what the big nasty sore on her forearm was from. I spent about 5 minutes dousing my hands with soap and rubbing alcohol after we got her out of the pharmacy and I had dropped a big nuclear bomb of bleach on the counter. Honestly I think I might have a bit of mysophobia. And to be honest that is really quite problematic for someone who deals with sick people all day.

--IISgirl ... MUST. WASH. HANDS.

1-2 shots, q half hour, prn a good time

Ahh, it has been a good weekend, from what I recall from it.

I went out drinking with the Drug Depot crew (what I formerly called Major Chain Pharmacy, but I like this name better) one of the nights, with entertaining results. The Law came out to the bar with a few of the techs and the other intern and I. Surprisingly enough, actually maybe unsurprisingly, The Law is a pretty heavy drinker. Anyway most of the night was on him. We just had to buy the first rounds, or egg him on, then when we got him trashed enough, he felt generous and bought the rest. He came up to me with a napkin that said, "Take 1-2 shots, q half hour prn a good time," and I don't know how many times I heard, "the doctor has authorized your refill!" When we ordered expensive drinks, The Law would laugh and say, "that's gonna need a prior auth!" My god pharmacy humor is so entertaining when you're drunk.

Maybe this was evil of me, but in his drunken state I also got him to agree in writing to buying us breakfast the next morning (Why did the entire 9am shift go out the night before? This was bad planning on our part.) and let me leave early later this week. The Law had a terrible hangover the next morning, but other than that, things weren't too bad the next day.

Today it was so slow, so I spent a couple hours playing poker with the tech.

The highlight of the day was a deaf old lady calling in and asking for "something over the counter like ex-lax." Apparently she had already spoken to the pharmacist, told the pharmacist she didn't know anything, hung up, called back a few minutes later, and got me.

I tried to clarify with her what she wanted. "So you're constipated?"
"Yes."
"Ok..."
"I need something to help me pee!"
"Then you don't need Ex-lax."
"Yes I do!"
"Do you want to pee or poop?!"
"Yes."
"What?"
"I said I want ex-lax!"
"Ex-lax is for bowel movements."
"WHAT?! SPEAK UP!"
"EX-LAX IS FOR POOPING!!!"
"I don't need to poop! I can't pee! I need *mumbles something that sounds like Lasix.*
"YOU WANT LASIX?! THAT'S NOT OVER THE COUNTER!"
"YES IT IS! I'VE BOUGHT IT BEFORE!"
"DO YOU HAVE A PRESCRIPTION? WHAT'S YOUR LAST NAME, I'LL CHECK OUR RECORDS!"
"I DON'T NEED A PRESCRIPTION!"
"THERE ARE SOME OTHER OVER THE COUNTER DIURETICS AVAILABLE IN THE WOMEN'S SECTION!"
"I NEEEEEED EX-LAX!"
"...hold on a moment I'll get the pharmacist."

Then I hear the old women screaming at the top of her lungs at our pharmacist, who tells her the same thing I just did.

--IISgirl ... ever notice how most of the day's calls are either people wanting to go to the bathroom, or wanting to stop going to the bathroom?

This is a bit heartbreaking.

There’s an old woman who comes into Major Chain Pharmacy every so often. She has been coming in and talking to me since my lowly beginnings as a clerk, those many years ago. So, over the years, she has essentially watched me grow up. Now she calls me “doctor.” She's a bit of a grandmotherly figure. For blogging purposes, I’ll call her Mrs. J.

Last month she came in with a prescription for Aricept, and as she was dropping it off, told me that she didn’t know what the drug was for or why she was prescribed it.

*sigh*

It’s for Alzheimer’s.

Mrs. J was very upset when I told her this. She was adamant that she did not have Alzheimer’s. For being a very old woman, I had always known Mrs. J to be remarkably independent, always having a story to tell, and always appearing very on top of things.

Saying she was very upset with her doctor for not telling her anything, she did not get the prescription filled, bought some bread, and went home.

She came back the next day and asked me if I knew of a doctor she could go to for a second opinion. I wanted to believe Mrs. J was right and that she was misdiagnosed. To me, she seemed just as sharp as ever. I gave her the phone number to a few doctors in the area, she thanked me, and left.

Today, almost a month later, Mrs. J came in again. I experienced an eerie sense of déjà vu. Almost word for word, we had the same conversation as last month. The same interaction. She did not remember at all that I had given her those numbers a month earlier. Although the date on her Aricept prescription was from April, she insisted she had been given it only the day before.

With a heavy heart, I realized that Mrs. J was not misdiagnosed. It’s no longer she who is watching me change, but sadly, it is now I watching her change.

I asked if I could please fill the script for her, and she refused. I tried to get the pharmacist involved but she would have nothing to do with that.

In any case, before she left, telling me she would call the doctors tomorrow and schedule an appointment, she asked if she could have my phone number. I really don’t think Mrs. J has anyone else to talk to, and she’s really a sweet old lady, so I obliged.

But I don’t think she’ll ever remember to call me.

--IISgirl … no more emotional posts or else I will have to change my name

Ding Dong the Wicked Witch is Dead...

I am so happy. The most terrible tech of the world (the one i mentioned be4) has been fired.
:) :) :) :)

--IIS, I am SOOO terrible.

Spider Bites

Well guys, my computer has been broken for a couple days. I haven't known what to do with myself in the meantime. I was so bored the other night, I actually *gasp* studied! Shocking, I know.

I was starting to believe I was addicted to the internet and that it's interfering with my school work, but thank god I had the experience of the past couple days to prove to me that I'm equally unproductive even when I don't have the internet, so we can't go pointing fingers just at that. I spent most of my time watching 80's movies and playing PS3.

I'm back with a little story from work the other night.

Lady: What would you recommend I put on this spider bite?
Me: Well--
Lady: *blood-curdling scream* SPIDER!!!!!!!!
Me: ...

Coincidentally enough, as if on cue, a spider had descended from the pharmacy ceiling and was now dangling in between us. I grabbed a 20 dram vial and caught him in it. I promised to kill the spider, but, bleeding heart that I am, I really just let it out the drive-thru window later that night after she had paid for her hydrocortisone and left.

The spiders. They are out to get her. I find it hilarious.

--IISgirl ... back to enjoying the internet