I hate drugstores. I really shouldn't. After all, my wife's a pharmacist and my daughter works at a drug store. Allegiance means something. Yet my hatred runs deep. Let me explain why...
First of all, I can't ever find my way around them. I need a road-map. "You are here" would be nice. There's no rhyme nor reason to the lay-out. "As Seen On TV" crap sits on shelves right next to "Dr. Kervorkian's Cure-All Miracle Tonic."
But I suppose my Extreme Dislike began several years ago. I was sick and my wife instructed me to go to the drug store and ask for a cough syrup with Codeine, the kind that would help me sleep.
The foul technician, more bird than human, sniffed at me over her pelican nose. Then she snidely said, "The cough syrups are in aisle three. But they don't have the 'goodies' you're looking for."
Gah! Hanging my head and empty-handed, I left to the sound of derisive laughter. I felt like PeeWee Herman when he was told there's not a basement at the Alamo. And I was still sick. Deeply shamed. Criminal number one.
Of course, my wife being the warrior she is, had it out with the
pharmacist later. It didn't matter, the damage had been done, my belief in drug stores irreparably shattered.
So, last weekend my wife was sick (since then I've come down with her ailment; Let's call it "The Thickening"). She sent me off with a bizarre laundry list of items. With a great deal of trepidation, I trudged back into the local druggery.
Of course I had to ask the clerk where everything was located. Eyeballing me, he took me on a quick tour as I gathered my goods. My final stop, the pharmacist. I unloaded my booty on the counter. "Let's see...lemon drops, shoelaces. Oh yeah, can I have some extra-strength (gulp) decongestants?"
I'm sure it looked like I was MacGuyvering a bomb or something. And when you buy decongestants these days, it's like going through Customs. They look at your I.D., check you out, make you sign for it, give you suspicious eyes and raise those damn brows. Even though I share the same follicularly challenged hairstyle as Walter White, I'm not the meth king of the Midwest.
It appears I'm not the only one in my family with a grudge-on against this particular chain of heinous drugstores, either.
Recently, my mom took my daughter to task. Apparently, the (unnamed) drugstore where my daughter works had the gall to charge my mom seven bucks more than what she used to pay at WalMart. (Oh, boy). Mom tried to get her money back. Ludicrously, I tried to explain to Mom that it's against the law. After Mom refused to understand things like "laws", I gave up. Jumping on the bandwagon, no other choice, I chastised my daughter. "Yeah, Sarah! Way to go. Your store sucks." (Note: This may sound harsh, but my mother's beyond reasoning. Plus I sorta' enjoyed dragging my daughter into the mess in an amusingly sadistic way. Let's call it "payback" for the many late-night worries she's caused me.).
I fully intend on joining my mother on the picket line in our two-people crusade against the evils of drug stores. Won't you join us?