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.

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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