Randy is nice kid. He's 18. He folds napkins at the local steakhouse for a few bucks. But Randy is a little different. He's dressed like Martin Short on SNL with his pants pulled up really high and his hair is slicked back with a lot of grease. You'd think he's kidding, but this is how he really wants to look. I wish I could get away with a look like that but I can't.
Randy is a little loud. He comes up the aisle toward the pharmacy shouting his arrival. "I'm here for my lactulose... I'm here for my lactulose... I'M HERE FOR MY LACTULOSE!!"
Most of the time we're ready for Randy's arrival. And there's a reason why... if you DON'T have Randy's lactulose ready, he stands at the counter, thrusting his pelvis toward the counter and grunting. He's not trying to be pornographic... he's actually having a panic attack. And when that happens, it scares people and we get it ready ASAP.
As Randy leaves, he shouts his way down the aisle, "I got my lactulose! I got my lactulose! I got my lactulose"