Weird Math #1: Hell * 6 = Xanax + Bailey’s

Hell #1.  The Grocery Store, after work, after the Hell that is my typical Monday at work.

Hell #2.  The line with three persons ahead of me at the Pharmacy Counter, Person #1 of which having ten I-kid-you-not prescriptions to pick up, nine for himself and one for his mother.

Hell #3.  Slow, cranky Pharmacy Tech who, after pacing in front of the fax for six minutes, still can’t find Person #1’s Mother’s Rx that was supposedly faxed over from her MD’s office three hours ago.  Until she finally decides to ask the PharmD, who tells her the Rx has already been filled and it is “… right where it is supposed to be, didn’t you check the status?”  No.  She was busy at the fax.

Hell #4.  Person #3, who can’t speak English.  Fortunately, my Spanish is now good enough to make me an okay translater.  Unfortunately, Hell #3 is now even slower and crankier, and pretends not to understand any English either.   Me:   “He just wants to know how long it will take to fill his prescription.  Should he leave it and come back for it later, or should he wait here?”   Hell #3:  “What do you mean?”

Me to Person #3:  “Lo siento, pero pienso que tal vez debe llevar su prescripcion a otra farmacia.”

Hell #5.  Me now at the Pharmacy Counter for my own Rxs, starting to get The Symptoms after being asked by Hell #3 for my last name for the second time.    Fortunately, one of the Rxs I have been waiting in line for will be in my bloodstream very shortly, I remind myself, over and over, while my right foot’s big toe is doing the jitterbuggy thing it starts doing when it’s time for it to start warning me that doom is just around the corner.

Hell #6.  The grocery store cashier who, not his fault that I’m way Way past the point of no return now, asks me not once but three I-kid-you-not times while ringing up my groceries “Would you like help out?”  On Time #3, I respond  “No, thank you.  No help, just OUT.  And if you ask me once more if I want help out, you are the one who is going to need help.”

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