Going To Have A Date Of Death If You Don’t Get It Right

(I work in the pharmacy of a regional grocery chain. We require the person picking up a prescription order to give us the patient’s name and date of birth; if they don’t give us the date of birth, we cannot release the prescription order to them. I am doing my scheduled counter rotation when a baby boomer who looks like a redneck Santa approaches. He is talking away on his cell phone.)

Me: “Hi there. Picking up?”

Customer: *pulls his phone away from his face* “Yeah I’m picking up for my mother-in-law. Wife’s after me to get this stuff.”

Me: “Sure thing. What’s her name?”

Customer: “Her name is [Mother-In-Law].”

Me: “And her date of birth?”

Customer: *scoffs* “I don’t know. She’s my mother-in-law. I don’t pay attention to that s***.”

Me: “Unfortunately, our system requires we enter the patient’s date of birth to help prevent prescription theft.”

(The customer quite literally turns very red. I steel myself for an angry tirade.)

Customer: “This is bulls***. Simple mother-f*****…” *storms off, ranting and raving to his wife*

Boss: “[My Name]… what was that all about?”

Me: “He didn’t react very well to me telling him I needed his mother-in-law’s birthdate to release her meds to him.”

Boss: “He was on the phone with his wife, wasn’t he?”

Me: “Yep. Don’t know why he didn’t just ask her.”