D-to-the-feated

CVS has been texting me like a desperate ex for days: "Come get your prescription, Emil Gros. Come on!"

So I schlepped over there today and you'll be shocked to know that the prescription was not to be found. Seems it had been filled at another location. Swell. I love you, CVS, said no one ever.

***

I went to the market to get yet more food for carnivorous, apparently-always-starving children. I drove around the garage for 8 minutes, could not find a parking spot, and so attempted to leave before I was late to pick the boys up from camp. 

"That'll be $3."

"Um, no. I didn't even park."

"But you were here for more than 7 minutes."

"Because I was looking for a spot and I didn't find one and now I have to leave so I'm not late."

"$3"

"NO!"

"Ok."

***

A side table arrives, and I unpack it carefully. Atop the glass shelf is etched "TEMPERED GLASS." This idiotic label cannot be removed, and so when you place the shelf atop the table, you are reminded that your glass is TEMPERED each and every time you look at it. I packed it back up, called Customer Service, and UPS is picking this item up tomorrow.

I have no further words on this subject.

***

Apparently, the children drank Arse Juice at camp today and came home to act like hooligans. They spent half the afternoon naked, whooping and yelling about their Rebellion. 

I found clothes hanging from my closet light, 97 stuffed animals thrown over the stair balcony, Legos everywhere, and this. 

Who would dare do that to my boyfriend? 

Seriously, people, I was not amused this evening. I took away iPads and dessert, and later, Jack yelled that I was "SO unfair, and just because I've been a jerk does not mean that I shouldn't get to listen to my book on tape."

"Well, young man, indeed it means exactly that."

But he wore my shit down, y'all. Just grated at me until I was nothing more than a thin rind sitting behind a snowy pile of shredded Parmesan. And I had no more fucks left to give. And so I lost this one and hardly care. #sotired #Dfeated

***

And then there's this gem from the Republican National Confucktion in Cleveland. Mother of...

REALLY? No other colors available for elevator naming?

CVS or, all that is wrong in this world

Obviously that is slightly hyperbolic, but only slightly so. This afternoon I went to the doc because the damn nausea is still with me (I am not with child, people, so put any musings in that vein to rest), and my ankle and knee joints have been so achy the past two days that I feel as if I climbed the tallest Chutes-and-Ladders ladder only to find that each rung was a decade of age rather than the quick-trip to the winner's circle. Long story short, I have felt arthritically ancient with a hefty dose of attendant crabbiness. As it turns out, it seems I have parvovirus, aka a shitty virus that lasts for weeks and can cause joint pain, fatigue and a generalized feeling of "shit, how did I get so old so quickly?" I'm thrilled.

Not.

I hate viruses. They are such mean suckers. They invade your body and you can't treat them, only their evil henchmen, the symptoms. I left the doc with a prescription for Zofran for the nausea (generic name: Ondansetron; isn't that utterly delightful? Like if I take this, maybe I'll want to go disco dancing to the max) and the suggestion to take Aleve post haste for the joint crap.

With complete resignation I headed to CVS, aka the place where your last dreams go to die. I felt deep in my achy bones that my prescription would never be ready, yet when I saw the line of people in front of me, I found the silver lining and said to myself, "Surely by the time I make it up this Sisyphean hill, my dance drug will be ready."

Behind the counter were two pharmacy assistants and one pharmacist. There were two Medicare-aged women at the registers (I'm not being agist! I saw one's Medicare card and the other was definitely older) and they were shooting the breeze with one another like they were long-lost sisters reuning for the first time in 40 years. Neither of their insurance cards was working, and in between catching up, they convinced not one, not two, but all three of the pharmacy employees to make calls on their behalf. Now, you might think this is good service, and to these birds it surely was, but T used to consult for CVS and one of the main rules his team implemented was that if one customer's needs are taking forever and that many phone calls too AND there's a snakey line in the wings, the pharmacy peeps need to ask the albatrosses to stand aside so that not every one else has to spend the hour in pharma purgatory with them.

Complete FAIL tonight.

Finally, one employee said, "Oh, my register is broken!!??" WTF? Did she not know that? The older ladies didn't notice because at this point they were rapturously engaged in the MOST inane conversation about how they were going to hand-laminate their insurance cards later tonight. Seriously? The gray woman at the other register casually unloaded her prunes (seriously) and other stuff, took 6 months to pay, then asked for a bag and finally turned around and said, "Oh, we made everyone wait." Yes indeed.

Meanwhile, the two women in line behind me keep inching closer as if that was going to speed things up. One was literally breathing on my shoulder, sighing dramatically and periodically hacking up her right lung. I wanted to yell, "Listen woman, I already have flipping parvovirus. Back the eff off and don't give me an extra bit of nasty."

After so very long I approach the desk and although I knew it was a foregone conclusion, was still sad and defeated when Quennie told me my prescription was not ready. "You see, we are understaffed and very busy." Thanks, Quennie, but if you'd followed the advice T's consulting team gave you a decade back, I would not have waited for 25 minutes to find out that I was actually in the wrong line and could have bought my damn Aleve on my own at the Self Checkout.

CVS should not be such a thorn, you know?