Tuesday, May 3, 2016

Hot Head Harry

Here comes Hot Head Harry. He wants to talk about his foot cream. He's not happy. You see, Hot Head Harry is confused because he gets two items for his foot. He gets Salicylic Acid lotion and Ketoconazole cream. But the cream comes in a tiny tube whereas the lotion comes in a big bottle. Harry gets the two mixed up and uses up the cream too quickly and then thinks that the pharmacy has shorted him.

Oh, believe me, we've tried to explain it to him. Every one of us... both pharmacists and technicians. No one can seem to get the message across to Hot Head Hairy. And he snorts off, swearing in his native tongue, mad every time... pacing off on his fungal feet.

Apparently this time was indeed the last time. Within an hour we receive a call from a Goofmart Pharmacy not too far away... wanting to know the situation because Harry is over there wanting to transfer all his prescriptions to them. Here's an actual picture of my reaction to the news:

Monday, May 2, 2016

That's All, Folks!

A few weeks ago I got into a bit of a Twitter snarl with another Twitter enthusiast. It seems she took issue with my daily posting of one-line quips with the hashtag #WhyYourPharmacistHatesYou. Her basic message to me was: "I've been in social work for 33 years. You should never say you hate anyone. Social media should only be used for positive messages. I love all my patients." In fact, she further made it seem like expressing anything but the bubbling over of fairies and roses suggests that I'm not a true healthcare worker. I was tempted to tweet "Mind your own business lady" but then I thought about it... she's right.

So that's it. THIS WILL BE MY LAST BLOG POST. Obviously if social media was only meant to express harmony and happiness, according to her (being the expert on health care), then I'll need to stop this blog right away.

Sarcasm and freedom of speech will not be tolerated in the new world order of the 1984 doublespeak. I intend to check myself in to a rehabilitation camp right away so that I may be reprogrammed via electrode shock therapy to express only joy and peace in my writings. 

Your Crazy RxMan will no longer be crazy, mean, sarcastic, or cynical. No more posting disappointing and/or aggravating stories about how pharmacists and pharmacy technicians are treated like minions by management, prescribers, and patients. Oh no... I'll be Happy RxMan and will only post happy fun Tweets and Facebook posts of kittens playing with yarn balls and patients getting anything they want, whenever they want, because it just wouldn't be right to deny anyone anything in the new world order. I might be so happy that in my spare time I'll only have time to chase butterflies and puppies. We'll have to see.

Effective immediately: Goodbye cynical, sarcastic Crazy RxMan. Hello Happy Fun RxMan. All will be right with the world.

Saturday, April 30, 2016

This Elevates my Blood Pressure

Mrs. Pressure is here again. She's on aisle eight, checking her blood pressure. She does this once a week. Then she will come to me to report her blood pressure.

Then she will ask me if the machine has been calibrated this week. Then she will ask me what I think of her reading and if she needs to take her Metoprolol tonight.

Her blood pressure varies a little bit, but it is never anything to worry about and every time I have to remind her that I don't have anything to do with the blood pressure machine but that it is regularly serviced. I also have to tell her that her medication must be taken daily.

And then I will suggest that she get an inexpensive unit she can have at home and she can check her blood pressure whenever she wants. Then she will tell me no.

Ok, here we go again. Wish me luck.

Friday, April 29, 2016

Here I am...

...during those last few minutes before
I can close the #Pharmacy...

Thursday, April 28, 2016


Dim Fart rolls up on one of the motorized shopping carts. He's here to pick up his "hydroco." It doesn't do any good to tell him that the medication is actually called "hydrocodone" because the label says "hydroco."

I get the bag of medications and set them out for him to inspect. This is his ritual every time. He snags the bottle of Metformin and gives it a good look.

A lady gets in line behind Mr. Fart. 

"Why is there only 15 tablets in here?" he asks.

"When you called yesterday asking me to refill your Furosemide, Mr. Fart, I told you that Dr. Fillemup renewed your Metformin prescription with a two week supply and put on the e-Script that you need an appointment."

"I don't see Dr. Fillemup."

"She's probably the one that was refilling prescriptions that day for the office," I reply, noting that a man has now joined the line behind the patient lady behind Mr. Fart.

"I don't see Dr. Fillemup. Why is there only 15 tablets?"

"Because you need an appointment. They want to see you in the office."

Mr. Fart continues his inspection. "Where's the leg cream I asked for? It comes in a jar."

I know he's referring to triamcinolone cream, the 454 gram tub we get for people with massive amounts of itchy skin. "I didn't know you wanted that refilled."

"I TOLD MICKEY ABOUT IT LAST WEEK!" he yells, referring to our pharmacy manager. I go over to the doctor call out file. Sure enough, we're waiting for a refill request from Dr. Skinwalker. I show Dim Fart the fax request. "We haven't heard back yet from Dr. Skinwalker."

"I don't see Dr. Skinwalker. He retired. I TOLD YOU THAT FIVE TIMES."

To my recollection, this is the FIRST time he's ever mentioned it.

"Who do you see now?" I asked.

"I don't know her name. What is it?" he asks, like I have any idea.

"Is it the same office as Dr. Skinwalker?"


"Then whoever is IN the office NOW will see eventually see the fax and respond to it," I reply, trying desperately to keep Dim Fart from having a cow.

The guy who was in line behind the patient lady disappears. But a new person gets in line.

Mr. Fart continues his inspection. He sees the Furosemide."

"Why is this in here?"

"When you called yesterday you asked me to refill your Furosemide."

"I don't take it anymore! I TOLD YOU THAT FIVE TIMES!"

I take the bottle of Furosemide and start to set it on the counter behind me. Dim Fart stops me and asks, "WHY ARE YOU PUTTING THAT BACK?"

"You said you don't take it anymore. Do you want it or not?"

"I want it."

I ring in the medications and scan Mr. Fart's club card. He sees me scan the club card and starts to swipe his credit card. A receipt prints out and I hand it to Dim Fart. He begins inspecting it.

"Did you scan my club card?"

At this point I can't resist. I say, "Oh, did you want me to scan your club card?" I knew it was coming. I knew he would say it. I couldn't hardly wait to hear it... and then, you guessed it... he said: