We Are Not In Kansas
Today’s example —
As I have written here recently my wife, the lovely and temporarily right-handed, Dawn, is recovering from a broken left arm. She has been under a doctor’s care. The doctor prescribed some painkillers for her and the Kroger pharmacy filled a little orange plastic bottle with the pills.
Her injury really laid her low and in pain, so I took the scrip to the pharmacy. I explained it all to the crew there and they were most sympathetic. They filled the prescription quickly and I was out of there in minutes. Of course, to do so I had to forge my wife’s signature. Big Whoopin’ Deal.
And then today happened at Kroger.
Because Dawn’s injury happened at her place of employment – The Church – a “Worker’s Comp” claim file was opened. Again – No Big Deal. It happens a zillion times a day.
To help satisfy the “Worker’s Comp People,” they wanted some verification from the pharmacy as to what drugs were taken and the cost. Standard Operating Procedure. It makes sense too.
So — at Dawn’s request, I toddled off to the same Kroger pharmacy where her prescription was cheerfully filled (and refilled) to get a printout of the requested information.
I know all of the pharmacy staff there and they know me. That is where I get my own monthly bushel basket of meds. It’s my second home. When I asked for the meds printout I was greeted with a smile and a complete lack of live brain cells.
Whoa! Back up a couple of steps here, Big Fellow.
I asked her to run that past me one more time, in case I was having a mini-stroke while she had been talking, and I didn’t hear her correctly.
She spelled it out for me again.
They cannot give me the piece of paper listing the meds Dawn took unless she signed a release form. Major Disconnect with Reality.
I repeated back what the pharmacist told me – only in words more comfortable in my vocabulary.
“Let me get this straight,” I said.
“I could bring in the original prescription, sign Dawn’s name and walk out with enough pain killers to make Charlie Sheen yell, ‘Winning!’ and you had no problem. BUT – I can’t get a piece of paper with just the name of said pain killers on it without a signed release. Am I getting that said accurately?”
“Yes, you are.”
Logic Black Hole – Visit #2
“Yes. That is correct.”
I pinched my nipples to clear my head. I was grasping for a solution.
“OK. Let’s try this,” I told the pharmacist. What if you are, for just a moment, careless and leave that sheet of paper on the counter, and I, larcenous dude that I am, grab the paper and run away? How’s that play for you?”
“No. They have cameras everywhere. You’ll be arrested and I’ll be fired.”
I bounced my forehead on the counter, muttering to myself – all the while eying the printout, judging my chances of snatching it from her hand and getting to my car before the Kroger P.A. system would blare, “Limping guy wearing a Giants cap – Clean up in Aisle One.”
I had to let it go. I could feel my blood pressure rising and all my pills were at home. They had me by the Clonidine.
“OK,” I said with a sigh of defeat. “You win. Gimme the danged release form.”
As I walked away from the counter I turned to the pharmacist, and doing my best Arnold Schwarzenegger, I said to her –
“I’ll be back.”