Long Story

A girl I know from my hometown occasionally comes to my pharmacy to get her prescription(s) filled. She doesn't live here, but she gets her prescriptions filled once every few months when she's passing through town. These prescriptions are usually for things like Lortab, Xanax, Restoril, and other such items of great popularity. She always acts over-excited to see me, and she usually comes in with her husband and/or children, but on one particular day, she was all alone. As I rounded the corner to approach the pharmacy for my 11:00 AM shift, she saw me, dashed over, hugged me, and proceeded to tell me how she was so glad I was there, because she needed her temazepam (generic for Restoril) transferred from a pharmacy in Las Vegas. I called the pharmacy in Las Vegas for the transfer and didn't notice anything unusual (like an attempt by her to fill the medication too early), so I filled it for her. She picked it up right away, and quickly left. About 30 minutes later I received a phonecall from her husband. He asked if his wife had "already stopped by the pharmacy". All I told him was that he just missed her. Since I've filled prescriptions for him before as well, I figured he wanted me to fill something and have her pick up his medication while she was at that pharmacy. Wrong! Shortly after my brief conversation with him, I received a phonecall from this girl, who sounded quite panicked. "Um Kristin?" she began, "My husband just called to see if I picked up a prescription and you gave him the impression that I did, but will you just tell him that I didn't pick anything up? Will you just confirm with him that I came by to say hello and to pay for the hairspray I bought? He's right here. Will you just confirm that with him? That I didn't pick anything up?" Then he came on the line. I'd never been put on the spot like that before. HIPAA regulations, though a pain to work through sometimes, would save my bacon on this phonecall. I told him that I could neither confirm nor deny that she picked anything up, but I could tell him that I did indeed see her purchase hairspray. At that point I realized my original conversation with him was a trap. Anyway, the dumb girl had shown him her receipt from the pharmacy to prove that she purchased hairspray. What else was on that receipt? Yeah, that's right. There was a charge with a prescription number attached to it. After I got off the phone with him, she called me again to say that what I told him wasn't good enough. I was to tell him flat out that she DID NOT pick anything up, and that the charge for the prescription on the receipt was a mistake. She told me her husband was on his way down to the pharmacy to dispute that charge, and she wanted me to refund him that money and she would just stop back by later to repay me for the medication. Wow, this was turning into a mess. Well, about 20 minutes later, her husband showed up. I told him I couldn't say what medication that prescription number was tied to. I told him that since I hadn't rung up her merchandise in the register, that I couldn't really confirm what she had left the pharmacy with. I mean, I really could confirm, but I didn't want to be involved! Too late. After it seemed like he bought my avoidant explanation, he told me he originally called me because his wife has been in and out of rehab for abuse of temazepam, and his question to me was a trick. He explained his great love for her and his desire to help her stay off the addictive substance. I felt his sincerity. He had worked in a pharmacy for years, and he knew he could call the automated system and enter a prescription number to see if it was filled and ready. He said he knew the minute he got in the shower that morning that he figured she'd sneak out and try to fill a prescription. Great. He told me that he knew I couldn't give him any information, but he just thought he owed me an explanation. Moments after he left, I got another phonecall from the girl. She was panicked...again. She then explained the rehab thing to me and told me that this was the only ONLY time she tried to fill this prescription and that she wasn't even going to take any. She said her husband was on his way home to "drag me down there" to "prove I didn't pick anything up" and to "look at my prescription history." Why me? She wanted me to falsify some prescription history records before they came back down. She said he'd divorce her if he knew she picked up temazepam today, which I knew wasn't true. Anyhow, I weighed my options. I could drum up some more "politician answers" for him when they came back together, or I could hide somewhere in the store. I chose the second option. I figured the break room in the back of the store would afford me the protection I needed. Minutes passed, and I received a phonecall from a technician in the pharmacy. She informed me, "They're here and they're asking for you, and I don't think they're going anywhere until they talk to you." Okay, so option #2 was out. I walked slowly back to the pharmacy, and they both approached me as I arrived. She started, "Kristin, I told him you would print out my prescription history (wink, wink) and that you would tell him once again that I didn't pick up any medications today." The free Barbie she had given me when I was 6 flashed in my mind. Was this the price I had to pay for a Barbie? I realized then that Barbie wouldn't want me to lie. Psychologist Barbie would want me to say, "Look, your husband loves you. I didn't help you at the register, and I haven't really researched the information in the computer to see if it was indeed picked up. That's something you'll have to discuss with your husband, WITHOUT me. He loves you. What would make you doubt that? He wants to protect you and his children, so why don't I make a printout of your actual prescription history, and you can talk to him about it." She didn't get it, because she said, "Oh, okay. (Wink Wink) Go ahead and print out my history." Well, I printed out her actual history, handed it over, and watched the fireworks. It turns out there were several other times she picked the stuff up besides today. Oops! They had a little scene, but it all ended with him handing back the information and telling her it didn't matter about the past, and that he wanted the truth from this moment on. Well, I wish I had a real ending for this story. I haven't seen them for many, many months, so hopefully she stopped sneaking around. Yeah, let's pretend that's the ending to the story.

If I Were Psychic, This Job Would Be Easier

A woman called to inform me that a prescription had been called in to the pharmacy the day before and that she was told by some "incompetent kid" that she would not be able to pick it up because "my doctor needs to call the insurance or something like that for a prior authorization or something." Yes, it probably was a prior authorization that prevented her from getting the medication right away. She said that since I was the pharmacist, she was just sure I could get the insurance to cover the medication so she could get it today. I needed more information from her, so I asked for her name. I attempted to find her in the database and had no success. I tried to look her up by name, date of birth, phone number, etc., but I was just not finding her. I told her that I couldn't locate the prescription information anywhere, and I asked her if she was sure it had been called in yesterday. She said, "Yes, of course it was. That's just what I finished telling you about!" I confessed I still had no clue about the prescription in question. "Well, it was called in and someone told me I had to wait for the insurance to approve it." I questioned her again, "Are you positive it was called in here yesterday?" She finally exclaimed, "No, it was called in to Walgreens! Don't you know that?" Um, yeah, my real name is Sylvia Browne.

Another Non-Funny Story With Advice At The End

A girl approached the drop-off window to turn in her new insurance card. As she stood there, the technician could see the girl looked pale. She asked the girl if she'd like to have a seat while we worked on the insurance. The girl declined the offer, but asked for a drink of water. The technician headed to retrieve some water when the other technician at that window heard the girl mention she didn't feel well, and she noticed the color leave her face. The technician quickly dashed out the door to attempt to rescue the fainting girl, but she was a few inches too short. I heard a loud thud, ran over, and saw a girl on the ground. The sound I heard was that of her head hitting the tile floor. Anyway, she was attended to immediately, but she refused medical care. When questioned about her medical history, she stated she donates plasma twice a week and never eats before or after the donation. Today was no different. So, if you donate blood or plasma, eat some food. Don't be a dummy. You'll become more of a dummy if your head meets tile.

It's not an "accidence" if it happens twice...or more

Okay, I'm kind of bombarding ya'll with posts, but I'm in a typing mode, so here's another one. It's only intended for ages 18+ though. It doesn't mean it's R-rated or anything, but I like to be on the safe side. So one quiet Sunday, my attention was drawn to the side of the pharmacy, where I heard a young girl exclaim, "YAY! They are open." Then she proceeded to ferociously kiss her male companion, whom she sent over to the pharmacy counter (as she went and sat on the bench). Hmmm, what could this young man possibly want? "Can I buy that morning after pill stuff here?" he sheepishly asked. We sold it to him, then he went back over to the girl, and they literally skipped off. A few hours later, I received a phone call from a young man who had a question about a purchase he had made at the pharmacy that day. He began, "Uh, hi. I was in earlier like a few hours ago to buy a morning after pill or Plan B or whatever it's called, and well, I got it because my girlfriend and I, well...we...my girlfriend and I had relations...sexual relations or whatever, like a few hours before that. Anyway, we did it, I mean, had sex again like just barely, a couple of hours after she took the pill, and I was wondering if that pill would be enough to cover both accidences." I told him I'd never been asked that before, because usually when people need to take Plan B the first time, they're a little more cautious in the future. I told him I'd have to look that one up. I found some information about how long it would last in his girlfriend's system, and I shared that with him. He liked my answer and excitedly responded, "So you mean it'll last that long?" I immediately said, "Yes, BUT that doesn't mean you can do that as many times as you want in that period of time and be safe. You should probably call it quits or find some method of birth control for any future (I wanted to say accidences) encounters." He then said, "Okay, thank you!" and then hung up.

Do YOU know how to run a copier?

As the manager, I get to talk to all the angry people. As I've said before, it's more entertaining than you could imagine, but I have to say I've never been called "too stupid to make a photocopy" before. I picked up the phone to talk to a complainant, and before I could say my name, he asked, "Are you the idiot that runs that place?" I confirmed to him that I was indeed the manager, and then he continued, "Well I'm calling to let you know that you're the sorriest bunch of &$@* idiots and the biggest %*$*# I've ever known and you're $&*# too #$*&@ stupid to run a @#*&$% copy machine." Then I calmly responded, "I would really like to understand you and help you, but it's difficult when your message is broken up with swear words." (Since he never used the "f" word, I wouldn't have been justified in hanging up on him, so I had to let him continue.) He then went on, "Well if you had half a brain in your $&#& head you'd see what a #*&% stupid bunch of idiots you are and you can't even run a copy machine." I attempted once again to ask him what the problem was. He continued, "The problem is that you *$#&% moron can't run and copier and are too stupid to even figure out how to make a *&#&% copy." Hmmm, I could see this was going to be a tricky complaint to get to the bottom of. He finally was able to come up with a wider vocabulary to explain that we didn't copy the worker's compensation information he'd brought in, so when he sent his friend to pick up his prescriptions and he was charged full price, he figured it was because we didn't have his worker's comp info on file correctly, and not because worker's comp didn't cover his Viagra and allergy medication. I explained that to him, and I asked if I could get his other insurance info to see if his regular insurance would at least cover the allergy medication. He said, "You can't help me. It's too &#%! late because [my friend] already left." In my most sickly sweet voice I responded, "Well I can certainly try to help. I could get the insurance information and then mail your medication. Would that help?" His final answer was, "No! What would help is if you taught your &#*% workers how to run a *#*!@ copy machine!" Okay, will do.

"So I won't wanna hurt people?"

So there's this lady that has been calling me almost every day I work, and it's never just once a day. Once she finds out I'm there, she is relentless. I really should have been posting our phone conversations, but I will just try to remember some of the things we've talked about, and periodically I'll post a conversation as I remember it. Picture a boxy woman in her late 40's to early 50's with fried shoulder-length hair, fried skin, expressionless face, and a nasally monotone voice. She's actually in her 30's, but hopefully you have a good picture now. My first encounter with her dealt with an anti-depressant medication her doctor placed her on. It's brand name is Celexa, and the generic name is citalopram. She called to ask me, after taking it for a day, if she should keep taking it, because it wasn't working. I reassured her that she needed to keep taking it to feel better. She kept asking, "How sure are you? Like 100 percent sure? Or not really sure?" I repeatedly told her, "Like 100 percent sure." After a few hours or a few days, she called back to ask my opinion on something. She asked, "If you needed to take an anti-depressant, which one would you take?" Since I recognized her voice, and since she didn't remember that I was the pharmacist that had urged her to take her medication DAILY about 46 times, I immediately responded, "Oh, I'd take citalopram. It's the best, and I would take it every day." She questioned, "Really? Really that one? Why?" Anyway, this went on for months. During one phone conversation I noticed she hadn't refilled citalopram for a few months, yet the questions still were about that medication. She still was asking, "What's the best anti-depressant?" and "Are you sure if I keep taking it I'll feel better? I've been taking it for a few months and it isn't working." Then I kept reminding her that it needs to be taken EVERY DAY. She then asked, "So you're saying I should take it every day? If I take it every day, will it make it so I don't wanna hurt people?" Yes! Too bad the medication, if taken every day, won't make her stop bothering people.