Where’s Yore Sign? The joys of dealing with the public

Do you have a job that brings you into regular contact with the public? If you don’t, thank your lucky stars. 🙄

This morning on the way home from my Thursday morning meeting, I wanted to get a flu shot. Even though Young Dr. Kildare had suggested I give the flu shots a rest after last year’s nasty reaction to the double-dose version the Safeway pharmacist was foisting on us old bats, the current hysteria about spreading flu and “thousands” of deaths (yeah — heard that one on the news this morning) spooked me. The thing may have no effect for me, given my advanced old age, and it may be too late, since it takes two weeks for the vaccine to kick in. But what the heck: it’s free, and the normal dose has no untoward effects.

So I drop by the Scottsdale pharmacy right across the road from where the business group meets. They’re out of vaccine. Pharmacist says one of the two pharmacies on my direct route home has the stuff.

So I drive across the city, maneuver a cutthroat dog-leg turn across three lanes of rush-hour traffic to get into the Walgreen’s parking lot, trot up to the pharmacy counter, sign up for a shot, get handed a form to fill out and get told to take a seat.

After about 15 or 20 minutes of waiting, I’m about at the point where I’m ready to leave. Just as I’m thinking, “How much longer should I waste my time here?” a fight breaks out.

No joke.

A mid-30ish woman has been standing in line for most of the time I’ve been twiddling my thumbs. Only she hasn’t been standing in line.

You know how Walgreen’s has this sticker pasted on the floor with little feet on it and big letters reading WAIT HERE? It’s right next to the sign that says

“For your privacy,
please wait here
for
the next available pharmacist.”

Well, this woman has parked herself about ten feet back of the sign. She’s way back at the eyeglasses and cold nostrums display, a good ten or twelve feet away from the “Please Wait Here” station.

One other patron has noticed this and is standing behind her. They’ve both been cooling their heels for quite some time, as have I. One of the two service bays at the counter is open — no one is at the counter.

Along comes an old buzzard: looks to be about 90 or 92. He dodders up to the empty space at the counter, not noticing the silly woman who’s standing halfway to Timbuktu.

When she sees him wander up there and sees the pharmacist start to wait on him, she has a sh!t-fit. First she starts to yell at the old man. Then she starts to scream at the pharmacist! He himself is pushing 75.

So at this point, I give up — I leave the paperwork on the counter and walk out.

There’s another Walgreen’s about two stoplights up the road. The pharmacists in this store are exceptionally nice, and all the hired help evince signs of intelligent life. Nobody is standing in line.

Since I’m presumably in the system and may appear to have just had the shot, I describe to the pharmacist what just happened at the neighboring store and ask if I could please get a flu shot at her store. The pharmacist is flabbergasted.

I say, “Just think of it: we get to drive around on the same streets with that woman!”

She laughs. “Yeah,” she says. “Sometimes the folks who come in here leave me thinking, are you really allowed to drive, too?”

We agreed: some people need to have a sign on their car.