This Was Going To Be A Post About Michael Moore's New Movie. It Is Not.

The film is called Capitalism: A Love Story. It's awesome and you should go see it. That statement will surprise no one who knows me. If he were 100 pounds lighter and I were gay I would marry Michael Moore.

I saw a late showing of the film in the middle of a soul-sucking work weekend, and ended up socializing afterwards, running up a sleep debt I knew would make Sunday morning no fun. Fuck it. The release of a new Michael Moore film is like a holiday for me, and I could handle a sleep debt. Sunday's customers just better not give me any crap.

So naturally there was someone waiting for me to unlock the pharmacy as I drug my seriously sleep-deprived ass towards the happy pill room Sunday morning. I sighed to myself. Then I saw she was crying.

She told me she had been raped the night before, and asked if I sold the Plan B "so I can go home and just make this go away"

Jesus holy shit. Here's the thing. There are people who are trained to deal with these types of situations. I am not one of them. I went to school for 5 years to learn about drugs. This was taking your local community college quarterback and putting him in a game against the Pittsburgh Steelers.

I pulled her over to the counselling area as I heard the phone start to ring. "Of course I can get you the Plan B, but that will only protect you against pregnancy. There are other things to worry about, I can't do anything for you here to help with STD's. You'd need someone with prescribing authority. It would probably be best to go to the emergency room."

She almost visibly winced at the mention of "emergency room" I decided not to play the "preservation of evidence" card. I don't know why. I'M NOT TRAINED IN THESE THINGS!!!!

Was I supposed to call the police? Am I some sort of required reporter? Fuck fuck fuck.....I DON'T KNOW!!!!! I scrambled around in the pocket as Mean Joe Greene bore down to take my head off.

I got the Plan B. I picked the single-pill version. For those of you not in the profession I'll tell you Plan B originally came in a 2 pill pack, with instructions to take one tablet now and one in 12 hours. It was always an open secret, however, that you could just take both tablets at once and not lose any efficacy. So when Plan B lost its patent it came out with a single pill version and got a new patent on that. I knew it would cost her more, but in her mental state I didn't want her to hear one set of instructions from me and see another set printed on the box. I also didn't want her to take one tablet and then flip out for whatever reason and not take the second dose, so the single pill version is what I sold her. I think I completed a forward pass for a few yards with that one, but I'm not really sure.

"I hope you'll still get some medical attention" I said as three phone lines rang and someone was beating on the gate of the drop off window I had yet to open.

"Well, do you think maybe an urgent care?" She asked softly.

"It would definitely better than nothing" I said, and told her how to get to the good one. "It's a little further away, but the staff there is really good" Which was my way of saying I hoped to hell she would avoid the house of quackery that was nearby. "Let me get you their phone number"

Later, I realized that while I was in the phone book, I easily could have found the number for the rape crisis center as well. Goddamn it. Thrown back for a 20 yard sack.

I rang out the Plan B, gave her the paper with the directions and phone number for the urgent care, looked her in the eye and told her it would be OK. I don't know if I'm supposed to say something like that. She said thanks and walked out the door. I have no idea if she went to the urgent care or jumped off a bridge. I'll probably never see her again. The day before I would have told you I've been at this long enough I could handle anything a customer would ever throw at me. Now I was rattled. Totally rattled. My hands were shaking as I finally opened the gate to face the crowd of foaming at the mouth barbarians that had gathered and was now ready to subject me to all the regular retarded shit that goes on in a retail pharmacy. The barbarians would be in a mood fouler than usual because I was not opening on time.

Later that afternoon my District Manager called demanding to know if the monthly controlled substance inventory was going to be finished by the end of the day.

I drank a half a bottle of scotch that night before I fell asleep. That's not an exaggeration.
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This Was Going To Be A Post About Michael Moore's New Movie. It Is Not.
This Was Going To Be A Post About Michael Moore's New Movie. It Is Not.
Reviewed by malaria
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Rating : 4.5