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Probably Would’ve Been Faster To Go Home

, , , , , | Right | February 24, 2022

I have been working as a pharmacy tech for two years and have gotten my fair share of crude comments and angry customers. I am working a quiet shift at an independent pharmacy located in a plaza. I like to play a game with myself when it’s quiet to see whether the person driving into the lot is coming into our pharmacy or one of the fast food or retail stores next to us. I’ve gotten pretty good at it!

While taking inventory, I spot a little gray Honda zipping through the parking lot and coming to a screeching stop in by far the furthest parking spot you can from the plaza, despite the availability of closer locations.

A small, middle-aged woman emerges from her vehicle with a look of determination on her face. Instinctually, I abandon the inventory work in the front of the store and step behind the counter to brace for the storm to come. As she gets closer, I can sense the looming rage emanating from her presence. She flings the door open.

Lady: “Where is your restroom? I really need to go.”

Me: “Hi, ma’am. I’m sorry, but unfortunately, we don’t have a restroom that you can use. You can try the [Sandwich Shop] next door. I’m sure they have one there.”

Our humble store is small, very small. There is very little room for storage, so space is a rare commodity. We have a storage room for the prescription files, but since we only have one washroom for employees, we use a small part of our washroom to store large bins with old prescriptions that are a few years old. Needless to say, anyone coming into our washroom that does not work there is a HIPAA violation waiting to happen.

Instead of explaining all of that, we just say we don’t have a washroom in our store. Luckily, there is a public washroom in the plaza that requires a key to get into for this exact situation. Unfortunately, during renovations in the past year, our store’s copy of the key was misplaced somewhere and cannot be located by the store owner. Most people, upon hearing that we don’t have any washroom facilities to accommodate their brewing situation, leave and look for a place elsewhere. But this is not going to fly with the Honda-driving dame.

Lady: “What am I supposed to do?! All the shops here have closed their washrooms because of [the health crisis].”

Me: “There is a gas station across the street that could let you go in.”

The lady ignores my suggestion and calls our bluff about the washroom situation.

Lady: “Well, guess what? I’m going to go right here!

She proceeds to unbutton her pants in front of me and the poor relief pharmacist. The lady tucks her thumbs into her waistband and gets ready to pull her pants down. She pauses, cocks her head up at me, and stares me down.

In shock and contemplating whether she is serious about letting us witness her bowel movements, I stare back in silence.

Lady: “You’re really not going to let me use your washroom.”

She pauses, still staring at me. I stare back. She grunts.

Lady: Ugh! Fine, then! I’ll do it right in front of your store!”

The lady picked up her purse and started walking out of the store, opening our door so hard the handle smacked on the glass of the nearby store. She got outside, turned around, and cupped her hands in front of her face to look at me through the glass.

Like an accident on the road, all I could do was look on at her, expressionless, waiting to see what she was about to do next. She threateningly tugged at her pants again to indicate to me that “she was really going to do it!” I looked past her to see a family with young children standing outside on the sidewalk. Noticing that I was no longer looking at her, she clued in and realized that she was about to flash not only the disapproving public but young, impressionable children.

She rebuttoned her trousers again and stormed off past my field of view and away from the eyes of children. About twenty minutes went by before I saw her sputtering silver vehicle zipping away out of the lot after what I can only presume to be the deed being done.

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