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A lot of people get tired of my bitchin' and moaning.
But what they don't realize is that I am opening up a very private world to them. I talk about everything on this blog, and because of that, I tell intimate stuff, funny stuff, and stuff that makes me crank off the hook. So when things do happen in my life, you know my sentiments deeply and you can either even laugh or cry with me.
You are part of the madness of living on the poverty level in this country. I could crank about that too, but I keep that down to a minimum. However, you are aware of how I despise going to soup kitchens and food pantries, and I make that clear in this blog, so you can get a glimpse of the world of a shut in that's forced to go out into the world and interact with people.
And you are no doubt also aware of my feeling towards the morons that work at Duane Reade in the pharmacy. The most un-professional group of bitches in the world. They remind me of when I was in school, and got a summer job, and how all of us teens clowned around in public service positions, giving people the worst possible service. We did this because we were not paying attention to what we were doing. You can expect that from punk kids, but here are a group of trained women who can't take a moment to take their heads out of their asses.
Such as one time I head to the pharmacy, and there is this woman standing, waiting before me and I chill behind her, for something like ten minutes, for someone to come out from the back to the front counter. I get pissed off after awhile and look over the partition and there, staring at herself in the mirror in the back is one of the pharmacy clerks, trying to figure out how pretty she is. Hey? Is anyone at the front desk? She turns around, startled, as if she just realized she was at work, and comes trotting out to the front desk to get our medications.
OR the other time when I get there and the three of these knuckleheads are standing next to each other, staring up at a computer screen. One of them is busy trying to find something. It looks like it take three morons to do one thing. Two of them see me standing there. Instead of excusing themselves from this indeed difficult and urgent task to get my medication, they tell me to wait. I do so for five minutes while they look at porn on the computer screen.
So, imagine my surprise to go to the pharmacy counter and finding the ring leader of their foolishness standing there in the front, ready to take my order. "Did anybody tell you?" She begins sweetly. Tell me what? "We are closing down." I look around and for the first time I realize that the shelves around the store are nearly empty. Are you kidding me? I ask with a cheese eating grin. "Yes, and I'm going to miss you so," she says earnestly. Are you kidding me? I'm glad you bunch of crumbs are closing. I'd rather jerk off with sandpaper than miss you, honey. You've been the fucking bane of my existence. So where do I go to pick up my prescriptions?
"At the Walgreens next door," she says. They'll take your records and you can pick everything up there." Wow, are you going there too? I ask. "No, I'm going up to one hundred eighty something street," she says. Ha ha ha. I don't have to see you lazy assed bitches anymore, I thought. This isn't bad news. This is GREAT MOTHERFUCKING news.You're not losing your jobs, you're just getting the fuck out of here, and maybe, maybe we can get some decent service up in this party piece. I can't say that I hate to see you go, bitch. I say to myself with a broad grin on my face. Can I get my medication, I say to her.
"Oh yes," she bats her eyes and runs off to return with my medi- cations. When is your last day here? I ask. "Wednesday the doors close," she replied. She hands me my bag of drugs and smiles sweetly. I can see the fluids of her brain boiling behind her eyes. Yeah, I take the bag and walk off. Yeah. I'll see you again, in the next million Thursdays.
Hobobob
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