They Love Me at Duane Reade

I have teh vertigo, which I’ll tell you more about later (really, I will, I will, I swear I will) but all you need to know right now is that it is the silliest ailment a person can get and still be incredibly annoying. To top this, I will have to grow horns or perhaps a giant blinking nose a la Rudolph.

The other thing you need to know is that Duane Reade is my own personal hell, and if I wake up there one morning I’ll know that I died in my sleep and led an impure life. Seriously, they must have classes on being stupid and pissy. I long for that corporate training video.

Instructor: Now, when someone asks you for help, it’s generally best to pretend not to hear them. Especially if you’re a pharmacy tech and they’re screaming their request while sliding down the Alavert case.

I think I stole that conceit from Dave Chappelle. Anyway.

I don’t let them get to me, no no. I buy everything in sight anyway, just as if I were being treated decently. Today, I worked my way through three separate aisles on my way to being mistreated in pharmacy, eventually rolling up to the counter with:

  1. Foot cream
  2. Eye drops
  3. Laxatives
  4. Throat drops
  5. Anti-nausea medication

I am the sexiest woman in the nursing home. That is all.

Published by Jen Hubley Luckwaldt

I'm a freelance writer and editor.

One thought on “They Love Me at Duane Reade

  1. Hey, pretty lady. Call me when the new shipment of Vagisil comes in! Meeeeooooooow!

    – A concerned fan (who is impressed and proud that his favorite blog-keeper is so honest and cool with her daily cases of life-threatening health crises).

    (Shoot. There’s no way not to sound sarcastic without using those “:)” things, is there?)

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