If you're a pharmacist or pharmacy technician, here's something that's probably happened to you. It doesn't happen very often, but it is ANNOYING.
Your post modern computer running the latest version of Windows pops up with some new e-Scripts. Quickly, you massage the data into your system, adjudicate, print, and fill. These were prescriptions sent over from the prescriber to your pharmacy. Time is of the essence, man! The patient desperately needs these medications, and if you work in Snootyville like I do, the patient is already on the way.
And then it happens... the patient arrives. You're feeling good because you have everything ready to go, ahead of schedule. Crisis adverted. The patient will be happy. The prescriber will be happy. All is good and right with the world. They will sing songs of our courage and bravery throughout all of Westeros...
...but wait. Seven Hells, the patient doesn't want all the medications. In fact, she only wants ONE of them. "Oh, I don't need all those. I only need the one for anxiety," she will say.
"But why did the doctor send all these prescriptions over here if you didn't want them filled?" you will ask.
"I just want them to be on record for when I want them," she will reply.
"But you do know that when prescriptions get sent over electronically, we're going to fill them, right?" you will ask. "That's what we do here."
"Yes, I know," she will say, picking up her Medicaid-paid zero co-pay anxiety med and then skip her way down the aisle like Dorothy on the Yellow Brick Road.
This is why most pharmacists have lost all personality. We're a sorry lot. Most don't smile, for the mass of pharmacists lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation. A stereotyped but unconscious despair is concealed even under what are called the games and amusements of mankind. There is no play in them, for this comes after work. But it is a characteristic of wisdom not to do desperate things. They sing not, and for those that never sing, they die with all their music in them.
Apologies to Henry David Thoreau and Oliver Wendell Holmes.