The world’s biggest comglomeration of dummies works at the Duane Reade near my office. Too bad I’m a hypochondriac and have to go over there 47 times a day to get my various medications, chill pills and vitamin supplements. (Seriously, doesn’t everyone have fully one-half of a medicine cabinent dedicated to this stuff? Because my sister looked at me like I was strange when she saw it.)
Anyway, they cannot understand my name, at Duane Reade, unless I write it down on a piece of paper, and they look at me blankly when I tell them which drugs I need, even though I called them in, like, six years ago and they’re pretty common medications. Also? They don’t have any common sense at all when it comes to the basics of retail. Here’s an excerpt from yesterday’s sojourn:
DUANE READE DUMMY: Here you go. (Passes world’s smallest bag over counter, with medication sticking right out.)
ME: Can I have a bigger bag?
DUANE READE DUMMY: Wha?
ME: A bigger bag. Can I have one?
DUANE READE DUMMY: Oh. Sure. (Shrugs. Rebags the lot. Passes back over the counter.)
ME: (Helpfully.) Because I’m going back to my office and I’d rather not have everyone see my Monistat.
To be fair, she did laugh.