I have been working at a big pharmacy retail chain for a few months, and I’ve gotten used to some of the regulars that come in, especially those from the assisted living center for those aged fifty-five and up right next door.

Most of the elderly folks that came through are pretty decent. They like to chat a little and ask questions about deals in the weekly ad but nothing really out of the ordinary. However, there is always the exception. There is one older man, who appears to be in his late sixties, who is always trying to scam us somehow, some way.

One of the managers has grown wise to this old guy’s scams.

Every three to four weeks, this old guy comes in and asks for his brand of cigars. Since about two-thirds of the employees at the store are not yet eighteen, we have to call the store code for management to come up and approve any tobacco sales. As I’m working the register today, I just so happened to be the one that gets the brunt of this old guy’s poor attitude as he is trying to scam free cigars.

The old man approaches the register, and he’s carrying a white plastic bag with something inside it. He comes up to the register, sets the bag on the counter, and pulls out the last receipt he has from us, which is from a week ago.

Old Man: *Demanding* “You need to give me a new pack of cigars because all the cigars in the pack I purchased last week are stale.”

The cigars he purchases come in a pack of twenty, so he’s claiming that out of the last pack of twenty he purchased a week ago, all twenty are stale, and he wants us to swap a new package for his old one.

I can’t do returns or exchanges; they have to be handled by the manager. Plus, it has to do with tobacco and that also falls under the jurisdiction of the manager because I’m only sixteen. I page the manager for a return, and as we wait for a moment:

Old Man: “How can you just sell old, stale cigars. Don’t you people rotate stock? I don’t have time for this. I just want to exchange these and be on my way!”

Me: “Sorry, but the manager has to handle any returns or exchanges. It’ll just be a moment.”

The manager comes around the corner, and I can see the irritation in his eyes as he sees it’s the old man.

Manager: “Good afternoon! What can I assist you with today?”

Old Man: “These cigars I purchased last week: they’re all stale. I want to exchange them for another pack!”

Manager: “Sir. We’ve been over this before and I’m tired of going over it with you. We will not exchange the cigars for you. I’m sorry that sometimes you get a stale cigar in the pack you purchase, but you cannot keep all the stale ones you get from multiple packs you’ve purchased over the past five or six months and then expect us to simply give you twenty new cigars for all the stale ones you’ve sat on.”

Old Man: “I don’t do that! I told you last time when I had a stale pack, they were all stale, and you exchanged them for me. I want to exchange them again.”

Manager: “I told you last time that that was going to be the last time I did that for you. I am not exchanging this for you.”

Old Man: “Look at how stale these cigars are! All the tobacco is just falling out of them, and the paper is crumbling!”

He pulls out one of the cigars and starts tapping it all over the counter, causing tobacco to fall out of the cigar and the paper it’s wrapped in to break off in small pieces.

The old man has now made a big mess on the counter — old, dried tobacco all over as he continues to demonstrate how “stale” the cigars are.

Manager: “That’s it. You’re making a big mess, and I’ve already told you I wasn’t going to exchange any more cigars that you’re keeping and trying to scam a new pack from us. Take your bag of stale cigars and leave.”

Old Man: “You think I want these? They’re all old and stale! Exchange them for new ones!”

Manager: “I’m done. If you don’t leave now, I will contact the cops to escort you out, and on top of it, we will ban you from the property. Take your bag of cigars and go.”

The old man huffs, shoves the bag of cigars toward my manager causing the bag to fall to the floor and spill tobacco all over, and quickly leaves the building.

Manager: “God. I hate when he does this. Every five to six months. He keeps the one or two stale cigars from all the packs he buys, tries to repackage them into the plastic wrap they ship in, and claims the pack was all stale. I’m tired of the store taking a hit, and I’m tired of his crap.”

He takes a deep breath.

Manager: “Sorry, I didn’t mean to go off like that on him or for you guys here to see it. Let me go get the broom and dustpan so we can get this all cleaned up.”

I liked working with that manager. He always had our backs with the rude customers.

A woman storms up to the register.

Customer: “These are all broken! I need a refund and I want to complain to your boss!”

She tosses a bunch of used pregnancy tests (unsealed) onto the counter. I call the manager while I don gloves to dispose of the items.

Manager: “What is the problem, ma’am?”

Customer: “These all say my daughter is pregnant! But she can’t be! She’s just a teenager, and she’s a virgin!”

Manager: “I see. Well, I am afraid you’ll have to contact the manufacturer of each test if you have cause to believe they’re incorrect. However, with respect ma’am, if all six of these say she’s pregnant, she’s very likely pregnant.”

Customer: “But that’s impossible! She’s a virgin!”

Manager: “You’ll have to discuss that with your daughter, ma’am.”

Customer: “Can she be pregnant and still be a virgin?”

Manager: “As far as I am aware, there’s only been one account of that happening, so I very much doubt it.”

Customer: “So it has happened! How did it happen? Was it in the news?”

Manager: “It was… pretty well documented.”

I’m a customer at a pharmacy. A woman comes in to pick up a prescription refill she’s called in.

Customer: “It is ready?”

Pharmacy Tech: “Sorry, ma’am, but we actually don’t have any record that you called, or of your prescription.”

She just goes OFF on them about their incompetence, while the poor tech dealing with her keeps his cool and repeats apologetically that she isn’t in their system. She is loud and obnoxious. She ends her sneering tirade by saying:

Customer: “I have the pill bottle in the car; I’ll bring it in.”

I am still within earshot when she stomps back in and thrusts it into the pharmacist tech’s face in smug triumph, eagerly awaiting the profuse apology she expects. He gently points out:

Pharmacy Tech: “Ma’am, this is from a completely different pharmacy.”

She spun on her heel and stalked out without apologizing.

I’m a pharmacy technician. In my state, to pick up a controlled substance prescription, you have to show your ID.

A lady comes through the drive-thru to pick up a prescription and doesn’t have her license. She b****es at me, claiming I’m breaking the law by withholding her medicine, blah, blah, blah.

Finally, she decides to call the cops on me. The cops come in, talk to me and the pharmacist, and then go out and write her a ticket for driving without a license.

A few hours later, a man (her husband or brother based on the name) comes and picks up her medication. He is not pleased.

Related:
No ID, No Idea, Part 49
No ID, No Idea, Part 48
No ID, No Idea, Part 47
No ID, No Idea, Part 46
No ID, No Idea, Part 45

This happened in the early 1990s, during the start of the registered pharmacist shortage. I was paying off school loans and trying to save up for a house, etc., so when I was called for extra shifts, I rarely turned them down.

On this particular day, I was off and laying in bed. At 8:45, my phone rang. It was my district manager.

Manager: *Sternly* “I need you to be in [Store] by 9:00.”

This store was an hour away from my house, and I had never worked there before.

Me: “I’ll go in, but I can’t get there until 10:00.”

Manager: *Gruffly* “No! Be there at 9:00!”

Me: “Look! It’s an hour-long drive, so I will get there as soon as I can, but it won’t be by 9:00.”

I got there just before 10:00. In walked my district manager with four of his higher-up bosses, and he immediately started berating me in front of them and customers.

I took it for a couple of minutes, hoping he was just trying to impress his bosses, but he started getting worse and worse about how bad the store’s inventory, tech budget, etc. were.

I’d had enough. And since, at that time, a pharmacist could get a job the next day, I lit back into him.

Me: “You know good and d*** well that I’ve never even been in this store before and that those things aren’t my fault! If you’re going to humiliate me in front of your bosses, then consider this my two-week notice.”

I never heard from the district manager again, but his bosses all came back down to try to talk me into staying.