Tales From The Big Box Store

I've been working in the pharmacy at The Big Box Store lately. It's good, mostly, except for days like today, when I worked with the least talkative man ever. The man doesn't make any chit chat - no "how was your weekend?" no "So, do you have kids?" Nothing. Just eight hours of silence. You'd think that would be relaxing but really? Not so much. It kind of creeps me out. The man doesn't say anything. Regardless. It's a nice change of pace from cashiering; it's busy and there's a lot to learn, which means my shifts go by quickly.

But man, there are some people out there on some serious-ass drugs. I fill a ton of prescriptions for Metformin and various statins. Lots of anti-depressants and anti-psychotics and anti-anxiety drugs, too. But mostly what gets filled, and not by me, since it's a controlled substance, is oxycodone. That shit flies out of the store. And some of the people taking it have been taking it for years. The pharmacist told me that there are some doctors in the area that just keep prescribing it for people, who don't care or don't realize that their patients have been on this stuff for ages. It's ridiculous.

I also get a lot of men of a certain age coming in for Viagra. Damn, that shit's expensive. Fifteen pills? $225.25. That's $15.01 per hard on.

I always feel a little odd when I ring them up and tell them to have a good night. Frankly, I just don't want to know what kind of night they're going to have, thank you very much.