(A man covered in tattoos walks up to the pharmacy window to pick up a prescription for his son.)

Cashier: “What is the person’s name?”

Customer: “[Child].”

Cashier: “What is [Child]’s birthday?”

Customer: “Um, is it [date]?”

Me: “No.”

(While the customer is trying to remember his child’s birthday, the cashier notices that a large tattoo on the customer’s arm is the child’s name… and birthday.)

Cashier: “Is [Child]’s birthday [date]?”

Customer: *wide-eyed* “Yes! How did you know?”

Cashier: *speechless*

(I would have thought that if you spent a couple of hours under a tattoo needle, you’d remember what was imprinted into your skin, but I guess I was wrong.)

My mom has an accident at work and spills boiling water directly on her hand, badly burning several of her fingers, one of which happens to be the finger she wears her wedding ring on. Her boss drives her to a nearby pharmacy clinic where she is seen by the on-call doctor.

At this point, her fingers have swelled a lot, locking her wedding ring on her finger and causing painful constriction. It’s clear that the ring needs to be removed. My mother is assuming they will cut the ring off of her finger, which she is sad about, but at this point, she’s much more concerned about relieving the intense pain she is in. The doctor comes into the room and quickly examines her hand, saying, “What a beautiful ring! It would be such a shame to damage it by cutting it off!”

He then proceeds to forcibly yank the ring off of her finger past the swelling, putting my mother in even more pain and tearing open the blisters that have started to form. 

She has since healed and is relieved to be able to wear her ring again and not need to pay to have it fixed, but she isn’t sure it was worth all of the pain and the extra time it took to recover due to the blisters being torn.

(I work at a pharmacy. My coworkers and I are female, all in our thirties. One day, an old man walks in. He carries a dirty bag. He has a pair of trousers in there, which he grabs and puts on the counter.)

Old Man: “Please fix it. The zipper is broken.”

Coworker: “Sir, you’re at a pharmacy.”

Old Man: “So?”

Coworker: “We sell prescriptions. We don’t fix clothes here.”

Old Man: *angry now* “But you all are young women in here! You have to be able to fix my pants!”

(One of my medications is delivered to my home through a specialty pharmacy. Every month they call to verify my information and see if anything has changed. At the end of our conversation, the Home Delivery Pharmacist — HDP — reverifies my medical history before finalizing the order.)

Home Delivery Pharmacist: “Okay… I see here this is from [Hospital Doctor]. Did you see him recently?”

Me: “Yes, while I was in-patient at [Hospital] last month.”

Home Delivery Pharmacist: “Okay. Have you been to the ER, had an infection, or been hospitalized in the last 90 days?”

Me: “Yes, all three.”

Home Delivery Pharmacist: “Which one?”

Me: “All of them.”

Home Delivery Pharmacist: “No. ER, infection, or hospital. Which one?”

Me: “Um… all of the above. All three.”

Home Delivery Pharmacist: *annoyed* “No, ma’am. Were you in the ER, did you have an infection, or were you hospitalized in the last 90 days?”

Me: “Yes! I went to the ER because I couldn’t breathe. I found out I had a lung infection and I was hospitalized for 21 days.”

Home Delivery Pharmacist: “Oh.” *sour tone* “You could have just said yes. We’ll ship this tomorrow.” *hangs up*

(A man is buying some insect repellent.)

Me: “Did you find everything okay?”

Customer: “Yeah, thankfully. Listen, I’m a good Christian and I know God wants us to love our neighbor and forgive others of their sins, but… f*** mosquitoes. Seriously.”

Me: “…” *hands him a receipt* “Have a nice day, sir.”

Customer: *suddenly smiling* “You, too!”

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