In my state, a patient needs a doctor's prescription to get a Shingles shot under age 50...
Lady, face covered with ice cream, holding an ice cream cone, comes up to the window.
"My doctor said I should get a Shingles shot today. My aunt has Shingles right now so my doctor said I should get the shot right away."
I think about all the things wrong with that statement, but there's no use in trying to argue with her about it.
"How old are you?" I ask.
"I'm 47." A drop of Rocky Road ice cream drips off the cone and zooms to the floor.
"We'll need a prescription from you doctor. Would you like us to contact him or her?"
"No, I'll go get a prescription."
Five minutes later she's back but on her cell phone. The cell phone is now covered in sticky ice cream. All I can think is that she better not try to hand me that cell phone to talk to her doctor.
I overhear here say, "The pharmacist guy says I need a prescription. Ok, I'll get your a fax number. What's your fax number?" she says, looking at me.
I give her Mickey's business card. I no longer keep business cards with my name on them at the register. Complaints against me dropped dramatically.
"Ok, here's the number... It's 555-5555."
"Oh? Really? Ok, I'll do that then."
<click> she hangs up.
"My doctor says if I go to <competitor across the street> then I won't need a prescription. I'll just go over there and get it."
"Ok," I say, relieved. In my head, I'm thinking... YES!
Across the street isn't in another state, nor does our competitor have a walk-in clinic with a prescriber. She's out of my hair (or at least my balding head) and in for a big surprise when she gets there, but it will be their problem now and not mine. She can go spill ice cream on their floor.
<phew> I do a happy little dance in my head.