Daft Old Duffer has been working himself in a snarling froth. Amazing what a pretty face can do for the blood pressure. Ed
For several months now my local chemist has been making a mess of my medical prescription, mostly by omitting items. This despite the fact that my requirements have remained unaltered for two years and more.
And to make matters worse, almost every time I call to collect my pills a different pharmacist presents him or herself. So much so, that I’m beginning to think the chemist chain is using the local shop as a last chance saloon, where particularly incompetent pharmacists go before finally being dismissed.
Wrong again? Grrrr!
I have to inform them, yet again, that my pill supply is wrongly made up. To which the invariable response is that it’s not their fault and perhaps I should go to the doctor’s and sort matters out there.
To which, with increasing loss of temper I reply that I am sick and tired of traipsing back and forth between chemist shop and medical centre, that the fault lies not with me but with them and therefore it is their job to sort it all out.
Sorted?
After which I go to the medical centre yet again, explain matters, get them to agree to issue a prescription for the missing items, return to collect said prescription later that day, then go back to the chemist to wait while same is put in paper bag and I can finally go home with my automatically generated prescription – ‘It will be ready for you when you call’ – and relax. Until next time.
By the time last month’s supply should have been ready I had worked myself into a snarling froth of a temper.
I was pretty mad
I was resolved on demanding to see the manager and to threaten him with a formal letter of complaint to the Area Manager.
I was going to inform him that although an Oldie, I was still a citizen with all the rights and consideration that status implied. I was going to tell him that my commercial life had accustomed me to being treated with respect and that no jumped up shop assistant was going to treat me with indifference. No siree bob.
I was pretty mad.
Wrong again? Oh never mind
Once again, just as I expected, my pill supply was short of several items. Unfortunately for me however the pharmacist on this occasion was not only slender and shapely and very pretty, she had one of those devastating mid – European accents that can do unmentionable things to a man. Even one of my age.
So naturally I agreed that, of course I quite understood it wasn’t her fault and that the best thing I could do – indeed the only logical thing – was to go up to the Medical Centre, whose fault it plainly was, and sort matters out there.
And with a final apology for being such a nuisance, and an assurance from her that not at all, she quite understood, off I toddled.
Happy, but a bit bewildered.
Image: RambergMediaImages under CC BY 2.0
