I used to adore walking in to the chemist browsing through the aisles, checking out mascaras and chatting to the girl behind the counter like an old friend.
With the introduction of huge super discount pharmacies the service seems a lot less personal. The principal aspect that annoys me though, is how the staff now give you the third degree no matter what you are purchasing.
If you dare to request cold and flu tablets prepare to be treated like a drug manufacturer on the same scale as Manuel Noriega.
Occasionally I'll buy an over the counter sleep aid which is appropriately named, “Sleep Aid”.
“Have you taken these before?” I will invariably be asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you allergic to anything?”
“No. Does housework count?”
No laughter… no sense of humour allowed in this profession.
“Do you have high blood pressure?”
“No”
“How many do you take?”
“One.”
“You shouldn’t take more than two at a time.”
“I know- it says that on the front of the packet.”
“Have you been to see a doctor about your sleep problems to maybe get something prescribed?”
Now why would taking a strong prescribed narcotic be preferable to me sporadically buying a relatively harmless over-the-counter medication? Frankly this cross examination protocol gives me the sh#ts.
Yesterday I popped in to the pharmacy to fill an acne cream prescription for my eighteen year old son, Padraic.
Optimistic that I wouldn’t have to face the Spanish Inquisition for a simple thing like pimple lotion and avoiding glimpsing my reflection in the two way mirror that makes me look like a blood-drained corpse, I handed the script to the girl behind the counter and went to do my grocery shopping.
When I returned and handed in my slip I watched the girl scurry over and covertly whisper into the twelve year old pharmacist’s ear.
Occasionally I'll buy an over the counter sleep aid which is appropriately named, “Sleep Aid”.
“Have you taken these before?” I will invariably be asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you allergic to anything?”
“No. Does housework count?”
No laughter… no sense of humour allowed in this profession.
“Do you have high blood pressure?”
“No”
“How many do you take?”
“One.”
“You shouldn’t take more than two at a time.”
“I know- it says that on the front of the packet.”
“Have you been to see a doctor about your sleep problems to maybe get something prescribed?”
Now why would taking a strong prescribed narcotic be preferable to me sporadically buying a relatively harmless over-the-counter medication? Frankly this cross examination protocol gives me the sh#ts.
Yesterday I popped in to the pharmacy to fill an acne cream prescription for my eighteen year old son, Padraic.
Optimistic that I wouldn’t have to face the Spanish Inquisition for a simple thing like pimple lotion and avoiding glimpsing my reflection in the two way mirror that makes me look like a blood-drained corpse, I handed the script to the girl behind the counter and went to do my grocery shopping.
When I returned and handed in my slip I watched the girl scurry over and covertly whisper into the twelve year old pharmacist’s ear.
Putting down whatever pills he was counting into plastic containers he purposefully strolled towards me and my heart sank knowing we were definitely going to talk about the cautions. God I hate the cautions, I thought.
He asked the usual, “Is this for you? Has he used it before? Is he allergic to anything? What is he using it for?”
I nodded diligently at all the elaborate instructions regarding the dangerous properties of zit killer and how the cream should be applied (with clean fingers; who’d have thought?).
After his long-winded monologue he asked,
“So what does Padraic wash his face with?”
I had to think quickly because I knew whatever I said would be wrong, wrong and wrong. Glimpsing a brand of face wash on a nearby shelf I pointed triumphantly and almost shouted,
“That stuff! That stuff there.”
“Okaaaay,” he said in a troubled voice. “Does he wash his face at the basin or in the shower?”
Perplexed at the relevance of this question I impulsively blurted out, “Shower!”
“Well make sure he is very conscientious while he’s doing it,” the pharmicist replied, looking at me with an expression that invited deep admiration at his profound knowledge and wisdom. “that face wash can be very slippery so make sure he takes care not to fall over in the shower.”
It was all I could do not to burst into laughter.
He asked the usual, “Is this for you? Has he used it before? Is he allergic to anything? What is he using it for?”
I nodded diligently at all the elaborate instructions regarding the dangerous properties of zit killer and how the cream should be applied (with clean fingers; who’d have thought?).
After his long-winded monologue he asked,
“So what does Padraic wash his face with?”
I had to think quickly because I knew whatever I said would be wrong, wrong and wrong. Glimpsing a brand of face wash on a nearby shelf I pointed triumphantly and almost shouted,
“That stuff! That stuff there.”
“Okaaaay,” he said in a troubled voice. “Does he wash his face at the basin or in the shower?”
Perplexed at the relevance of this question I impulsively blurted out, “Shower!”
“Well make sure he is very conscientious while he’s doing it,” the pharmicist replied, looking at me with an expression that invited deep admiration at his profound knowledge and wisdom. “that face wash can be very slippery so make sure he takes care not to fall over in the shower.”
It was all I could do not to burst into laughter.
Please leave a comment if you find this aspect irritating as well.
Another post about why Pinky hates shopping is...here
