Saturday, August 2, 2014

Sunday Morning Scramble

Mrs. Wheelbarrow was back. This time she wasn't on her cell phone. That was quite a story you can read here.

Saturday she handed me two scripts for her husband. They both have a message which says that I can fill them on Sunday.

"Ok," I said, "So we'll see you TOMORROW then?"

She gives me a look. A bitchy look. "Why tomorrow?" she asks.

"The doctor has indicated not to fill them until tomorrow. I open at 9 am. I'll have them ready about 10 am or so."

"Why can't I get them at 9 am?" she asks.

"It's always very busy right at opening on Sunday, so I'll need some time to open, help people, and of course type and process these prescriptions. I can't do anything with them until tomorrow because of the doctor indication."

Mrs. Wheelbarrow walks away, not acknowledging anything I've said. I'm a peon in her mind and not worthy of a response.

SUNDAY, 8:50 am, I scramble to get the pharmacy open. One lady is waiting to pick up her script, the phone is ringing, and I'm trying to process Mr. Wheelbarrow's scripts. By 9:05 am I get one script filled and the other counted. It would be done too but I keep getting interrupted by phone calls and people at the window.

9:10 am... who's at the pick up window? Mrs. Wheelbarrow. Before she has a chance to speak, I tell her I'm going to need a few more minutes.

"Why?" she asks, giving me stink eye. She's squinting. I hate it when people do that. 

"I barely opened the pharmacy. I'm working on your husband's prescriptions now but I need a few more minutes."

The phone begins to ring again.

"How long do you need?"

A second line rings. I now have two people trying to call the pharmacy. Sunday is like that. Everything happens during the first two hours of the day. The rest of the day is pretty easy... but those first two hours... wow.

"Ten minutes," I reply.

"Well," she says, with a snotty tone. "You told me to be here at 8 am."

The demon inside me wants to say something, but I push him away. I reply, "I beg your pardon. I'm sorry you misunderstood. I said to be here after 10 am. We don't open until 9 am."

Mrs. Wheelbarrow walks away. She comes back a few minutes later... less than ten minutes, just to show me who is in charge, but I have her husband's scripts ready and I sure as hell make sure I put in her club card info. She pays, asks me if I put in her club card info, then leaves.

So if you're wondering why your pharmacist looks miserable, this is a great example for you.

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