Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Seriously, What's the Deal?


This has happened to me many, many times. Based on the number of people that liked this tweet, I'm guessing that it's happened a lot everywhere.

So what's the deal? I'm not closing. I'm CLOSED. The pharmacy is closed. We've been here open at least 12 out of 24 hours of the day, but you can't manage your time to take care of your pharmacy business during that ONE HALF of the entire day?

And like most pharmacies, we've had a long day. We're done. Over and out. Kaput. Finished. We shouldn't hang a sign that says CLOSED. This is the sign we should hang:


Monday, February 8, 2016

Slow Down There, Cowboy!

In Snootyville, not just the patients are snooty-snoots. Some of the doctors and their office staff are too.

We have a doctor's assistant that calls in prescriptions. She will not leave a message, use e-script, or fax. No, she punches through to the pharmacy (which has a very annoying ring on our side but that's another story).

Once I'm on the phone with her, she immediately starts spitting off the info for a new script for a patient. Most of the time I can keep up, but sometimes not. Then she's perturbed if I ask her to repeat something.

The other day, though, she must have had a case of Red Bulls or something because she was rattling off a new script at 90 mph (that's 145 kph for you folks on the metric system). I couldn't keep up and the little demon inside me said:

"Whoa! Slow down there, Cowboy!"

Big mistake. She became intensely angry. "I am NOT a cowboy! How dare you use such derogatory language with me!" She finished her Red-Bull-induced rattling and hung up.

The next day the manager had to have a talk with me. This lady called back to lodge a complaint about my horrible reference to her as a "cowboy."

Really.

I'm convinced that I live in some weird dimension that has blended with the real world that the rest of you live in. I get the weirdest, craziest complaints over NOTHING, and it happens way too often to be a coincidence.


Saturday, February 6, 2016

The Authorities WANT to Help!

The Authorities are more concerned than ever before that we get adequate technician help at a moment's notice.

In fact, they installed a device in the pharmacy. All we have to do is press a button and they will respond instantly.


Friday, February 5, 2016

This is me...


Trying to figure out how to explain why we're out of generic Ambien to patients...

Thursday, February 4, 2016

The Pimple Emergency

Mr. Hoser dials up the pharmacy.

"You have a refill on my son's Benzoyl Peroxide Cream?! Huh? Do you?!"

There's a brief pause while I pull up the info on the computer. I know who is calling even though he never said who he was. "No, he's out of refills on his Benzoyl Peroxide GEL."

"Do you have it? Do I have to wait? You guys never have things when I need it. Can you call the doctor? Or is it faster if I call the doctor? Huh?"

"If you call the doctor it will go faster. We have the GEL in stock. That's what he had before."

<click>

TEN MINUTES PASS

Mr. Hoser's doctor dials up the pharmacy.

"I want to authorize a refill on Larry Hoser's Benzoyl Peroxide Cream plus three refills."

"Larry had the GEL before. That's what we have in stock."

"Ok, then we authorize a refill on the GEL."

<click> Does no one say "goodbye" anymore?

FIVE MINUTES PASS

Mr. Hoser dials up the pharmacy.

"Did the doctor call? Did he? Can I come get my son's cream? Can I? Huh?"

"Yes, the doctor called. It's FILLED and READY to pick up. Come get your son's GEL..."

<click>


LESS THAN TEN MINUTES PASS

Mr. Hoser is at the window. "I'm here for my son's cream!"

I can't help myself. "Pimple emergency?" I ask.

"Larry has a lot of anxiety..."

Mr. Hoser's cell phone rings. He answers it, "What the HELL do you want? I told you I'd call you back when I'm damn good and ready. Now F--- off!" <click>

I'm beginning to see where Larry gets his anxiety.

I hand Larry's prescription to Mr. Hoser. There is no co-pay. You might have already guessed, THE TAXPAYERS PAY FOR IT. It's Medicaid.

Mr. Hoser rushes off. That must be one whopper of a pimple.