It had been three days since she had left her house. When she tried to follow her normal routine she found that the baker’s stares would linger on her a little too long when ordering her morning bagel and coffee, the bus driver would ask her one too many times to take a seat while they were moving, and her coworkers would ask her insincere questions about her “stalker.” She paced back and forth so heavily that the wooden floor boards would creak beneath her feet. “Why haven’t they called,” she would mumble to herself repeatedly while pacing. Finally, the door buzzed.
“Mrs. Kinsley? Are you home?”
She quickly ran to the door and welcomed Wetstone and Sherman,
“We think we have found the solution to your problem,” claimed Wetstone while removing a pile of unopened mail from the chair in the corner of the room. He took a seat while watching Sherman walk the perimeter, calculating the meaning of the random knick knacks on the shelves. Wetstone continued, “We’ve learned in our investigation that you made contact with an Ester Mycin. We have documentation that she comes into people’s lives under the guise of help. She must have learned of your first encounter with the Streptococcus and offered you a solution.”
She looked up confused, “I don’t understand. She was helpful and what she did helped for a short time.”
Sherman, who was staring at an old grandfather clock on the adjacent wall blurted, “Ester is scam artist. She provided you with a service but only completed it 70 percent of the time. She then somehow communicated with the Streptococcus informing him that you were still vulnerable to its attacks. Unfortunately this Streptococcus has evaded all of our attempts to find it.” Smerman’s lips curled upward and his eyes sparkled with excitement on the idea of an unsolvable mystery.
“We did find a woman who can help you, Mrs. Kinsley. Her name is Penny Cillin and even though we are unsure of her methods, she has been extremely successful.” Wetstone handed over a folder with her information. “We hope this will offer you a solution and if not you can always contact us again.”As I was sitting down on the wooden bench in front of the pick-up window I overheard many more rude comments made on my behalf. As they were filling the first twin’s prescription the assistant mentioned that she was unable to find the proper size bottle for the penicillin. In response the pharmacist yelled over, “We don’t have time for this scavenger hunt thing. Who cares if it isn’t the right size bottle. Don’t make it perfect.” I had looked over, made eye contact and heard my inner voice shout, “LOOK AWAY! QUICK! FASTER!”
An hour had passed and I watched a few customers come and go through the pharmacy. All were treated with a measure of the same hostility that I was. I started to realize that the pharmacist must hate his job or just life in general. This was confirmed further when an older man, likely in his 70’s, came up needing assistance in finding a bottle of B vitamins. When he asked the pharmacist for assistance, after trying to find it himself for 10 minutes, the pharmacist told him to keep looking for it himself. I stood up and found three different brands which offered the B vitamin and the older gentleman thanked me with a warm smile that almost erased the horrible experience I was having.
Another half hour had passed and I overheard the assistant explaining to the pharmacist that she could not figure out how to add the second twin into the system. She asked if he could take a look at it and help but instead he responded, “They are both going to take the same dose? They are twins right? Just send her home with some and tell her to come back tomorrow or something.” She called me up to the window and told me that a more senior tech would be in on Saturday and that she was going to leave a memo explaining the situation. As I was checking out for the first twin’s prescription he walked over and tried to justify why it was ok sending me home with one prescription. I did not need an explanation. I understood the concept of using one bottle on both twins until they could figure it out. I also understood that he was an ass who did not want to take the time to do it now.
On Saturday I arrived to find a more helpful pharmacist. He explained that he did not quite understand what the memo was trying to say and that he was grateful that I came in to clarify. He sent me home for the day and told me that he would not leave the pharmacy until it was solved. I left and returned to the pharmacy on Monday. I walked in and noticed the hostile pharmacist again. I walked up cautiously to the pick-up window offering the last name. The prescription was figured out but not filled yet. Deciding against waiting for an hour with that pharmacist there I left. It is now Tuesday and I still do not have my second twin’s prescription.