This story reminded me of the last time I got my prescriptions refilled. Relevant to this story is the fact that I have two prescriptions: one for ADHD and one for depression.

I had recently come home from college for winter break, and after checking my meds, I decided that I should get them refilled before New Year’s Eve happened and our deductible reset. Not wanting to have to bother people on a holiday, I called [Small Pharmacy] two days before Christmas Eve to see if they could transfer my prescription to [Large Pharmacy], which was much closer to home. [Small Pharmacy] told me that I needed to call [Large Pharmacy] and get them to ask for the transfer. Okay, I can do that. I thanked the person on the line, hung up, and called [Large Pharmacy]. 

They’re a large chain, so I was on hold for about half an hour before someone picked up, and then I gave her the information about the prescription and she said she would make sure it got done. I figured that would be the end of it. 

Fast forward to the day after Christmas. My mom went to the [Large Pharmacy] to pick some things up in the store section and decided that she might as well pick up my prescription while she was there. As it turned out, they only had one prescription for me — that of my ADHD meds. The lady at the pharmacy claimed it was because my antidepressants are narcotics (which they are not), so my psychiatrist’s office had to call them directly. My mom argued a bit with her, mostly trying to explain to her that they were not narcotics, before giving up. 

The next day, I called my psychiatrist’s office and asked them to call in the prescription, which they did.

I waited a few days before calling [Large Pharmacy] to check on the status of my prescription. Again, they only had the ADHD one filled and were unable to find any record of my antidepressant prescription. So, I called my psychiatrist’s office again, where they claimed to have already sent in the prescription to [Large Pharmacy] the day before. I tried to call [Large Pharmacy] again to check on this, but after being on hold for over an hour and fifteen minutes, I gave up.

Two days later, I was down to the last two pills of my antidepressants and figured I might as well just go to the pharmacy in person to see if that would help. I ended up getting my ADHD meds, but once again, they did not have any record of my antidepressants.

So, I gave up and did what any overwhelmed young person does when they need help: I texted my parents and asked them for help. I don’t know what my dad did but, he called [Large Pharmacy] and was able to get my antidepressants the same day.

I am not looking forward to the next time I come back from college and have to change pharmacies.

Related:
Oh, The Thrills Of Getting Your Pills

I was laid off before Thanksgiving, so I am in a tailspin to find a new job. I found a consulting group via LinkedIn and applied. A week later, I got an invite to interview. 

On the day of the interview, I headed over to their headquarters, and the greeter sat me down in a large conference room with no windows. I was waiting for maybe twenty minutes. Then, I heard a knock, and a lady stepped in. This woman had the lowest-cut shirt I’ve ever seen in a corporate setting. I’m a woman, too, so I definitely understand pushing the boundaries of BS dress codes, but this lady had 75% of her ta-tas out. I was shocked, but at the same time, I was telling myself, “It’s pretty cool if they’re this lax about office attire.”

She introduced herself as the head of Human Resources. We exchanged pleasantries, and she started asking me typical questions about myself (where I studied, where I’m from, etc.) for about fifteen minutes. Then:

Head Of HR: “All righty, you ready to start the interview?”

Thinking I was already in the interview, I agreed with some surprise. Then, there was another knock on the door. It was a young man in his early thirties (definitely much younger than the HR lady). He introduced himself as the Vice President. I sat there thinking, “Oh, wow, I’m the same age as the VP.”

He started talking about the company, and after another fifteen minutes, he asked if I was (again) ready to start the interview. Again, with some surprise knowing I’d been here for an hour, I said yes.

Vice President: “I see you studied public health. I hope you understand that while we are a healthcare-facing company, we don’t necessarily ‘help’ people.”

Me: *Flabbergasted and shyly* “Oh, okay. I understand.” 

Vice President: “To start off, I have a question for you. Oil companies that’ve experienced the most fines tend to have the least environmental incidents (spills, etc.), while oil companies with little to no fines have more environmental incidents. Can you explain why the latter have been able to get away with it for so long?” 

Keep in mind… this was a HEALTHCARE CONSULTING GROUP. They had nothing to do with the oil industry. But at that point, I wouldn’t have been shocked if question two had been, “If you were to defraud the IRS, how would you do it?” 

I gave them sheepish answers to their questions (which all inexplicably had to do with evading government fines). At the end, I was definitely sure I wouldn’t be invited back… and deep down, I was fine with that. But to my surprise, they called me two days later for a second round. 

Against my better judgment, I accepted. I met with the same HR lady, now dressed like she was going to a nunnery after her shift with the most shapeless dress I’ve ever seen on a human. She welcomed me again.

Head Of HR: “Are you ready for the case study?”

Case study?! Literally nobody told me about a case study! We sat down in the same dungeon room as she administered it. To be honest, I had lost all interest at this point and was giving BS answers. I barely even remember the questions. I was completely disassociated.

At the end, they thank me for my time. This time for sure I absolutely knew I hadn’t gotten the job.

But then, they called me for a THIRD ROUND. I very politely declined on the phone, telling them I had been accepted at another job.

I hadn’t been. I am still jobless. But I’m not desperate, and this job threw every species of red flag in my face.

These days, I’m eating cereal at 3:00 pm, watching re-runs of “90 Day Fiancé”, and living off of my savings. And I’m okay with that.

I work in a tax accountant office. Around 10:00 am on Sunday, I had two clients come in to do their M1PR, a rebate of your rental fees through the state of Minnesota.

They were physically disabled and in power wheelchairs with oxygen apparently built in; they both had cannulas. One of them was legally blind, and the other was hard of hearing. They were a married couple. They were brought to my office in the mall by the paratransit buses. They weren’t very mentally present, but we did our best to accommodate them.

We asked if they had cell phones as part of the tax process, and they said they did not.

I did their M1PRs and sent them on their merry way. Supposedly, their pick-up was at noon. Their pick-up bus did not arrive. They puttered around the mall for a while waiting for pickup until 2:00 pm.

Around that time, we figured something was wrong, and after some discussion, we tried to call the paratransit organization. They were closed for the weekends and not taking any calls.

Next, we called mall security to let them know about the problem. Mall security sent someone to check up on the couple but said they couldn’t do anything except not throw them out when the mall closed at 5:00 pm.

At this point, it was about 4:00 pm, an hour before the mall closed. The two customer’s wheelchairs were making distressing “low battery” beeping noises. We called 911 on their behalf. The police didn’t show up until 5:00. The police officer was very upset about the inability to get in touch with the paratransit people and said she was going to send someone over to the paratransit headquarters to physically speak with dispatch.

The medical personnel came next but said that they were not permitted to transport the clients in the ambulance unless they were taking the clients to a medical facility, so the only thing they could do was remain on site and make sure that the clients didn’t choke to death by checking on the oxygen tanks. 

They said they could take the clients to the hospital if something went wrong with the oxygen tanks, of course.

At 6:00 pm, the wheelchairs fully ran out of power. Some investigation revealed that they needed proprietary charging devices which were back at the clients’ house. The clients no longer had any mobility at all. I stayed late with the police officer, the mall security officer, and the medical personnel to keep an eye on the situation. At this point, the clients were waiting in our office instead of in the mall proper.

At 7:00 pm, the police officer told us that a paratransit vehicle was on the way and that the company would be fined for forgetting about the client.

At 8:00 pm, the paratransit vehicle arrived, but the driver of the vehicle didn’t bring the equipment to load unpowered wheelchairs and refused to load the wheelchairs without power. The police officer really laid into the driver, and she and the security guy offered to help carry the wheelchairs into the vehicle, but the paratransit guy refused to touch the wheelchairs until they were charged. 

The police officer made a run to the client’s apartment to bring back the charger andd told the paratransit driver not to go anywhere.

At 8:15 pm, five minutes after the police officer left, the paratransit driver went somewhere.

At 9:00 pm, the police officer returned with the chargers, and we started charging the client’s wheelchairs. The police officer radioed headquarters and told dispatch to send another officer to the paratransit headquarters.

At 11:00 pm, the paratransit driver arrived on site again and got into a shouting match with the police officer.

At 11:30 pm, the clients were loaded onto the vehicle to go home.

At 12:00 am, midnight, I finished the closing procedure, clocked out, and went home.

I’m at a blood draw clinic. The front desk lady, who is also the lead phlebotomist, has maybe one s*** to give, which she is holding onto tightly. Her name means “beautiful” in another language, so I’ll call her “Beautiful” for this story.

Person #1: “Oh! I forgot my ID. Can I still check in, go get it, and come back? If I’m not quick enough, you can put me at the end of the line.”

Beautiful: “It’s not a long wait; I’m not sure you have time. There are other people waiting, too.” *Points to me*

Person #1: *To me* “Is it okay with you?”

Me: “Yeah, sure! Good luck!”

I check in.

Beautiful: “I don’t know what she thinks she’s doing. I’ll be surprised if she’s back.”

[Person #2] checks in, but [Person #3] arrives and starts hovering and trying to butt in. Beautiful ignores him.

Person #3: “I’m just trying to ask about my chart.”

Beautiful: “Sir, you need to back up. I’m currently helping someone.”

Person #3: “But it is a quick question.”

Beautiful: “No, it isn’t. I would have to close out of [Person #2]’s file and open yours. [Person #2] also has a quick question, but your harassing us has made it take longer. Put your name in line, and I will get to you. You aren’t skipping the line today.”

Person #3: “But it’s a quick question.”

Beautiful: “No.”

Later, we are still waiting. I’m not watching the clock, but I don’t think it’s long.

Person #3: “I think I’m next.”

Beautiful: *Clearly busy typing* “No.”

Some time passes.

Person #3: “Okay, so, I’m next, right?”

Me: *From across the room* “DUDE! You know you aren’t next. The people who work here have a lot to do to help us all, and harassing them doesn’t help.”

Person #3: “But I just have one small question.”

Beautiful: “Are you trying to have your blood drawn?”

Person #3: “…maybe?”

Beautiful: “I’ll help you soon. There are other people waiting.”

Person #3: “But two people have come out.”

Me: “There is another guy in there, there is the girl if she returns in time, then me, and then the other guy. And then you. You know this.”

Person #3: “But the girl isn’t back. I should get her spot.”

Person #1: “I’m back! Am I too late?”

Beautiful: *Smiling* “You are right on time! Thank you for being so considerate.”

[Person #3] said nothing else while I was there.

Back many years ago, I spent a few months working in a clinic where the admin staff were very into birthdays. Once or twice a month, they would circulate a card for everyone to sign and ask for a small donation. On the birthday, the staff person would be asked to come into a meeting room and, surprise! Coworkers and cake.

Admin #1: “[My Name], would you like some cake?”

Me: “Oh, no, thank you.”

Admin #2: “Why not?”

Me: “I’m allergic to dairy, but thank you for offering; it does look good.”

They would keep pushing (“just a small piece”) but not too much, and then they’d let me be. This happened at every birthday for a while and then dwindled to a polite single offer where I’d remind them of my allergy and that was that.  

I learned that they always bought the same brand of packaged cake, so I went to the supermarket and read all the ingredients of the various flavors and styles, hoping to find something dairy-free, but this was pre-Internet and before there were things like vegan cakes at regular markets or even much choice at all. This was pretty much the only brand.

Six months later, it was time for my birthday. I was not surprised to find myself called to a room magically filled with people. I got a lovely card and good wishes. And then, there was cake. I was sure that, for my birthday, they’d get me something I could eat. 

Me: “That cake looks so good. Is it homemade?”

Admin #1: *Laughing* “No, it’s [Famous Brand].”

[Admin #2] handed me a piece.

Me: “No, thank you. I’m allergic.”

Admin #2: “Right.” *Smiles and hands the piece to someone else*

They weren’t being mean (allergies weren’t common back then), but it was obvious my birthday wasn’t the point. That’s when I figured out that this entire ritual wasn’t about anyone’s birthday (though it was sweet and it brought the staff together in a way). It was, in fact, all about the cake.