What would be a day off is no longer a day off, and what was a short Tuesday shift is no longer a short shift. It seems like we’ve lost a tech, and so I might be going into work earlier on Tuesdays for a few weeks, and covering a 3 hour period on Wednesdays for the next couple of weeks.
We had a most interesting character in the store the other day, someone who definitely deserves to be on The Angry Pharmacist’s list of patients, although I’m not sure which category he’d be under, since there really isn’t a “completely irritating cracked out moron” category. He came on Friday with discharge papers from a local hospital, complaining that the doctor’s were supposed to give him a new prescription, but that they never gave him one, demading that we contact the doctor for a new script. He hung around the store for over an hour while we called the hospital and waited for a call back from the doctor, coming up to the counter every 10 minutes or so to ask if the doctor had called yet. Eventually the doctor gets back to us and calls in the exact same script that the guy has been on in the past, we fill it, and send him on his way.
Saturday he came in with an actual hardcopy script from the hospital for the same drug, same direction, everything, and doesn’t understand why we can’t fill it, even after it’s explained to him (several times, I imagine) that he’d just had it filled the night before and that we’ll put this one on file for the next time he wants it filled. It’s not even a hardcore junky drug, we’re talking about Dilantin, a century-old anticonvulsant here.
Monday he shows up again, this time with more discharge papers and *gasp* no prescription. According to him, he went back to the hospital after mixing too much of his Dilantin with crack, and now his ears are ringing like fucking crazy, more than likely because he’s taken too much of both drugs according to his paperwork. And again, he’s insisting that the doctor was supposed to give him a prescription for something. He can’t work like this. He wants the RPh to call the hospital and get them to prescribe something for him. He’s demanding we find him something called an “ear suppressor” to stop the ringing. He wants to know how long the ringing is going to last. I mumble something from my spot about how it’s going to last 4 days, 7 hours, and 37 minutes. All of his arguing is done in a voice more slurred than I was after my 23rd birthday party when everyone at the bank took me out and got me loaded.
The pharmacist politely but firmly tells him that there is no such thing as an “ear suppressor”, that if the doctors wanted him to be on anything else they would have given him a script for it, and that he’ll have to just wait things out for the ringing to stop, because like his discharge sheet says it will go away on its own. She also tells him to stop doing things he shouldn’t be doing and that might speed up the healing process, which is just polite RPh language for “Dude, lay off the crack, you’re not Bobby Brown.”
*sigh* Moments like that make me love my job.
This weekend we’re going to Mom’s house where Eddie and I will make a pumpkin masacre. Last year I made a puking pumpkin (as seen on the net a couple of years ago) and it was a huge hit with both the kids that came to the house and my grandmother, who was greeted by it when she got out of the hospital (she has since requested that I make another one for her doorway this year). So this year I just told Mom I was going to make a masacre and to pick up a bunch of the most disfigured pumpkins she can find, and I just told Eddie to tell her to find some crime scene tape if possible. I’m going to check work today and see if they’ve got anything like fake knives. There will be pictures. And lots and lots of seeds.
Found this little nugget in my referral logs tonight, not once but twice, and showed it to Eddie.
lists and I'm so excited you are going to be Alice, a plus size Alice is even hotter.
