A teenager, maybe 16 or 17, appears at the pick up window.
"I'd like to get that cream for athlete's foot that has clo-trap-a-zole in it," he states.
"It's on aisle eight, DIRECTLY BEHIND YOU, on the left, toward the bottom. You're looking for clotrimazole. It's in our store branded product or the brand Lotrimin out there."
Teen points to aisle seven. "This aisle?" he asks.
"No, aisle eight."
Seriously, can't people follow directions anymore?
He walks down aisle eight looking on the right.
"ON THE LEFT," I yell out. He turns around.
At this point when people ask for help, the pharmacy participation in the matter is over.
But not this time. I see him out there holding a box in his hand while talking on his cell phone. I get busy with something else like an ultra important MTM matter of changing a day supply from 30 to 90 days for a patient. Gotta keep that star rating up! A good ten minutes passes when I look up and Teen is there at the counter holding two boxes of Preparation H.
"I don't see where these say they have clo-trap-a-zole in them."
I resist the urge to laugh, as do the techs listening in. Keeping a straight face isn't always easy.
How this kid ended up with Preparation H is beyond me. There's nothing on the yellow boxes which even remotely gives you the idea that Preparation H would treat athlete's foot. I went out the aisle eight and showed him the clotrimazole.
Upon return to the pharmacy the techs and I had a good laugh about using Preparation H for treating athlete's foot. Jokes about the fungal consequences of kicking ass followed. Perhaps it was rather rash, but at least this kid had no idea he became the butt of our jokes. I feel like such a heel.