Some people need to find hobbies.
Apparently my last post touched a nerve, as my Livejournal was bombarded with comments about my lack of maturity, how I must not know what it’s like to “loose” someone, how no one will ever take me seriously with an icon that’s a picture of two unicorns humping, how I should use my Livejournal for things that matter (this is a personal Livejournal, for fuck’s sake, nothing on it matters), and how evil I am for wishing that bad actors with nothing to offer would die instead of young actors with assloads of potential. All anonymous, naturally, with the exception of one user who may as well been since she was an empty Livejournal to begin with. Some people just take shit way, way too seriously.
Work’s been uneventful. We’ve had scores of people who just don’t seem to understand that eventually you reach an age where you are expected to do things for yourself, and whining “how am I supposed to know what my insurance deductible is?” will not garner any pity from the pharmacy staff, regardless of your age. It’s not my job to know the deductibles for the seemingly millions of different insurance plans available to people in the US. I understand that they send you a metric fuckton of paperwork when you sign up, and we don’t expect you to sit down by the fire with your pipe and a scotch and read the whole thing in one sitting, but you really should have a fucking clue about the very basics your plan offers. We’ve have Cipro and Cialis flying off the shelves, so I’m guessing that people are sick or horny, or both. Some strange woman came in last week and spotted my pentacle necklace and fired off a “merry meet” like it was some sort of pagan secret handshake, and that amused me for the rest of the night. And we’ve had the regular assorted crazies trying to get refills on their pain killers and psych meds a week too early.
