During my freshman year in high school, my science teacher assigned us to interview people in the community about how they use science in their careers. Although I don’t remember most of the people I spoke with, I can tell you that I spent meaningful time with a local community pharmacist who changed my life.
What I saw was a man who loved his career and truly cared for his patients. In an instant, I knew that I wanted to become a pharmacist, and I never wavered from that goal throughout high school.
Knowing what you want to be when you grow up at age 14 is unusual, but it is very liberating. I simply had to work backwards to figure out how to achieve my goal of becoming a pharmacist.
After high school, I chose to attend Ohio Northern University (ONU) because it had a unique pharmacy program. Rather than attending college for 2 years and then applying to the pharmacy program, ONU students were admitted to the College of Pharmacy from day one.
Although it was expensive, being in pharmacy school from day one and avoiding the risk of rejection made it worthwhile for me.
In college, I spent a lot of time in the library. Although the classwork was difficult, I did well with one exception: organic chemistry.
I did fail organic chemistry—a notorious “weed out” course—but I successfully retook the class over the summer and graduated on time with the rest of my classmates. Failing a course is a difficult stumbling block, but I stood strong and persevered.
Today, I’m thankful for the wonderful pharmacy profession for so many reasons.
First, I’m thankful that community pharmacists are the health care professionals most accessible to the public. If my local pharmacist wasn’t accessible to me, then I likely would have taken a different career path.
Second, I’m proud of the work we pharmacists do, the diversity of our career options, and the relationships we share with our patients and fellow health care providers.
Pharmacy is a profession that makes a real difference in people’s lives. It certainly has made all the difference in mine.
Canada, Medical Office, Ontario, Toronto | Healthy | December 15, 2017
(I was just recently diagnosed with pretty severe asthma. This winter, I start feeling odd in my chest whenever I breathe, and it’s causing me great anxiety, so I go to my GP.)
Me: “Whenever I breathe my chest feels odd, and it’s difficult to get deep breaths.”
Doctor: “So, don’t breathe; problem solved.”
Me: *awkward laugh* “Yeah, I guess so, but I was hoping for a more permanent solution.”
Doctor: “Take your inhaler.”
Me: “Yes, I am, but it doesn’t help.”
Doctor: “So, don’t breathe.”
(I ended up walking out and going to the ER. It wasn’t life-threatening and they just told me to take something over-the-counter medicine for a month, and to avoid going outside in extremely cold weather.)
Hospital, USA, Washington | Healthy | December 15, 2017
(My sister goes to the hospital due to her appendix rupturing. Because of the amount of pain she is in, I answer all the questions for her, fill out forms, etc. While she is in the ER, nurses continue to ask if she is pregnant. The first couple times are different nurses that I assume aren’t talking to each other, but it gets annoying. This all happens before they confirm it’s her appendix.)
Nurse #3 : *later, as the painkillers are starting to kick in, causing my sister to slur her speech slightly and not be quite present* “Is there any chance you’re pregnant?”
Me: *frustrated* “There is no chance she’s pregnant!”
Me: *points at the insurance cards I’d pulled out of her wallet and laid on the counter* “If you idiots had taken half a second to look at these, you’d see she doesn’t have a uterus!”
(My sister was in an accident when she was a kid and had to have her uterus removed, and carries a card with that information on it, because the pregnancy question always comes up. The nurse left quickly and we soon had yet another nurse, who didn’t ask the pregnancy question. I apologize to the nurse at the desk later for yelling, but she waved me off and said it was a quick way to learn a lesson.)
Retail | Burnsville, MN, USA | Right | September 21, 2016
(I manage a retail store that does engravings. When customers want something done we go to a little counter, stand opposite the customer, and explain pricing. I am due to have my daughter any day when this happens. I’m tall and have always been really skinny.)
Nice Young Couple: “We want to get [Item] with [Name] on it.”
Me: “Oh, that’s such a cute name!”
(I explain the pricing. All is going well.)
Woman: “I’m six months along and feel like a whale! How far are you?”
Me: “I’m nine months. Actually, the doctor said I should have popped a week ago. When I’m done working, I walk the Mall of America like a crazy person because a manager over there swears it helps induce labor!”
Woman: “You’re nine months!? Why are you so small?!”
Me: “I don’t know. I’m just naturally skinny but the doctor predicted that she would at least be seven pounds or more.”
Woman: *suddenly incredibly angry* “I’m only six months and bigger than you! That’s not fair!”
(At that point the woman went savage and actually tried to climb over the counter to hit me. Her boyfriend grabbed her and dragged her out of the store kicking and screaming “It’s not fair!” while giving me a look that said “I’m so sorry!” Two days later I got my doctor to give me a note saying I couldn’t work anymore while pregnant because of blood pressure issues. I had my baby a week later and quit when my maternity leave was up. I have never, and will never, go back to retail. I have a lot of respect for people that stick it out. You don’t get paid enough.)
home improvement | RI, USA | Right | August 2, 2017
(I am pregnant, quite close to my due date, and obviously showing it even through my boxy work uniform. This occurs during a (so far) normal transaction as I am returning an item for a customer approximately in his fifties.)
Customer: “So, you’re pregnant?”
Me: *smiling* “Yup!”
Customer: “How’d that happen?”
Me: “Uh… well… um…”
Customer: *cheerfully* “You’d be surprised, the different answers I get with that one.”
Extra Stupid, Health & Body, Medical Office, USA, Washington | Right | November 2, 2017
(I’m having a pregnancy test done at a local clinic. After I get a positive result, they go over some things with me. The nurse is asking me basic questions about daily habits and my lifestyle.)
Nurse: “All right, do you smoke?”
Me: “Nope.”
Nurse: “Drink alcohol?”
Me: “Not at all.”
Nurse: “Do you plan on starting?”
Me: “Not anytime soon.”
Nurse: “Oh, thank God! I don’t have to try to talk sense into you.”
Me: “Do people really think they can smoke and drink during pregnancy?”
England, Kent, Pharmacy, UK | Healthy | December 14, 2017
(I am waiting patiently for a prescription to be filled in a quiet pharmacy.)
Pharmacist: “Found it; here you go!”
Me: *takes bagged item* “Thanks.”
Pharmacist: “No problem, bye!”
Me: “Uhh… I still need to pay for this.”
Pharmacist: “Oh! I’m so sorry. Thank you for your honesty.” *rings up the transaction*
Me: “Well, not that I would anyway, but it would be kind of stupid for me to run off, seeing as you know exactly who I am and where I live.” *gestures to my address printed on the bag*
Pharmacist: “You wouldn’t believe what some people try.”
Clinic, Parents/Guardians, USA | Healthy | December 14, 2017
(A mother comes into our blood-draw station with her non-verbal, autistic adult son. He is at least 350 pounds, and probably about 6′. I am 5’1” and about 120 pounds, mostly lower body and core muscle as I’m a competitive Irish dancer. The mother proceeds to explain to me his special needs and his abilities and limitations.)
Me: “Okay. Is he likely to try and hit me?” *the mother gives me an odd look* “I’ll still draw him if he is, it’s just easier for me to block if I’m expecting it.”
Mother: *incredulous* “You’re going to block him hitting you?!”
Me: *looking at her son* “Yes. If he tries to hit me, I will block the hit.”
Mother: “You can’t hurt my son.”
Me: “Don’t worry. I’m trained to block physical attacks without harming the attacker; it’s a training that many healthcare workers have.”
Mother: “I don’t want you to block it.”
Me: “Let me get this straight. Look at me. Look at him. I am a 5’1” woman. You want me to just let him hit me?”
Clinic, Houston, Texas, USA | Healthy | December 14, 2017
(I recently got home from an overseas trip. On the flight back I caught a fever and started having stomach issues. A few days later, I had to switch out with my father when driving because I didn’t feel like I could both drive and focus on breathing. I’ve always had asthma, but usually only have had issues when exercising and breathing very cold air. However, this is the second event in around a month where I couldn’t identify a trigger and the breathing problems lasted for a long time. The first time I went to the emergency room, was told it was a panic attack, and was sent home. When things didn’t clear up, I went to the school clinic where they said it was my asthma — not a spasm like I was used to, but inflammation — and gave me medication. Things cleared up. Because it is only a little after New Year’s, my mom doesn’t think our GP can fit us in quickly enough, so we head to an emergency clinic. Our new insurance only allows us to go to one chain in the area, and it’s 30 minutes away. There isn’t a doctor available, so we confirm we are fine with seeing the head nurse. I’m used to journalling some aspects of my health due to things like adult onset allergies, and have written specifics of the start and stop of the symptoms in a notebook, along with details from the other attack. Sometimes I also have difficulty speaking because of my focusing on my breathing.)
Mom: “She’s been having trouble breathing. We were here a couple days ago because she had a stomach bug.”
Nurse: “Can you describe when this started?”
Me: “Um, I noticed I had to focus to breathe. I was really aware of my breathing. It started last night, I guess? Um— I wrote it down, if it’s easier.”
(I hand her the notebook. She looks through it, but she looks skeptical.)
Nurse: “Okay, I know what’s going on here. Honey, you’re having a panic attack.”
Me: “I don’t think it’s a panic attack! It happened before around a month ago. I have asthma—”
Nurse: “The emergency guys thought that was a panic attack, too. Listen, I know you don’t want to hear this, but this is in your brain.”
(This sets me off for multiple reasons, one of which being that I DO have anxiety, but it is controlled and not the kind that results in panic attacks. Another being that I’ve been misdiagnosed with “stress pains” by my father’s urologist, who was checking for kidney stones, when we later found out I had some muscle issues in that area that were easily taken care of with physical therapy. I should also note my mother has been making some comments, but I can’t exactly remember them. She’s mostly worried.)
Me: “But the other doctor said it was asthma! I’ve had people dismiss things like this before! But when it was checked out by someone else they found something! I have anxiety, but I get those! I don’t have this problem!”
Nurse: “So you just keep going to doctors till they say what you want to hear. But I’m telling you, this is a panic attack. You said in your notes that talking is difficult, but you’re talking fine now. You seem fine. You just need to accept this. Maybe call your therapist or psychiatrist.”
(She ended the appointment. I was pretty hysterical once we returned home. I have been well functioning for years and even though I didn’t believe the nurse, she put the idea in my head that I was as well off as I thought. I should also note my mom is of the generation that often writes things off as stress, and seemed to be taking the nurse’s side, or at least playing devil’s advocate, adding to my stress. I blubbered to my mom and eventually my psychiatrist’s hotline. [Psychiatrist] quickly wrote a prescription for anxiety, but was very firm in telling me most of her patients didn’t end up using it and that often having it in their possession helped. She also said that if I felt I needed it to only take half and assess how I felt. Honestly, I didn’t feel any different. Later, my mom apologized that she helped upset me and called our GP. )
Mom: “[Doctor] made an opening for you tomorrow. Guess what she said, though, when I told her everything that happened?”
Me: “…what?”
Mom: “In her experience asthmatics usually have panic attacks because they can’t f****** breathe.”
(My GP gave me a steroid inhaler and I started breathing better in a few days. I later went to my asthma and allergy doctor and found out I have a new severe allergy to dust mites, something that aggravates asthma. F*** you, nurse.)
Medical Office, New York, Rockland, USA | Healthy | December 13, 2017
(I have been getting flu like symptoms for a week or so every month for about a year and finally made myself an appointment to see the doctor. I had to switch primary care physicians for insurance reasons. This is my first appointment with a new doctor. When I go to see him, I also happen to have some mild allergy symptoms including a stuffy nose, which I am used to.)
Doctor: “So, what can we do for you today?”
Me: “Well, for the past year or so I have been getting flu like symptoms about a week out of each month.” *my voice is sort of muffled and you can tell I have a stuffy nose*
Doctor: “Seems like you have a cold there.”
Me: “No, it’s just allergies. I’m always like this this time of year.”
Doctor: “There’s really not much I can do for a cold. I can prescribe you some antihistamines.”
Me: “I’m fine, thanks. I already take them, and this is just normal allergies.”
Doctor: “You know, with your asthma, allergies can worsen your breathing.”
Me: “Yeah, I know, that’s why I am on three medications for it. Anyway, for like a week each month I get a mild fever and body aches, sometimes headaches. This has been going on for a year.”
Doctor: “I am going prescribe you a Z-Pak just in case, so your cold doesn’t get worse.”
(Writes out a prescription.)
Me: “No, that’s okay. Like I said, this is allergies, I am not here for that.”
Doctor: “Here you go.” *hands me prescription* “Come back in a week if you’re not better.” *leaves the room*
(Needless to say I left angry and never went back to that practice. Oh, and it turned out I had Lyme disease.)
Medical Office, New York, Rockland, USA | Healthy | December 13, 2017
(I have noticed a small bald spot at the top of my hairline. Concerned, I make an appointment with a dermatologist to get it looked at.)
Nurse: “Okay, what seems to be the problem?”
Me: “I noticed I have a small bald spot on my head and am concerned about it.”
Nurse: *looks at the spot* “Oh, that doesn’t look to bad. Don’t worry about it, hon. I’ll have the doctor come in and help you.”
Me: “Okay, thank you.”
(I then wait about half an hour on the exam table until the doctor finally comes in to the room. He sits down in a chair without acknowledging me and reads my chart. He then stands up and leaves the room. About five minutes later he comes back in and walks towards me without speaking. I see a large syringe in his hand. He reaches up to my head with the syringe and is about to inject me when I back away from him.)
Me: “Okay, wait. What are you doing? What’s the syringe for?”
Doctor: “I need to give you an injection.”
Me: “Why, what’s the problem?”
Doctor: “You have a spot of alopecia. This will help it.”
Me: “What is in the syringe?”
Doctor: “Steroids. It’s fine.”
(The doctor then proceeded to grab my head and injected the area with the huge syringe. He disposed of it, took off his gloves, and left the room giving me no information about the condition, what caused it, or if it would go away. I left there pretty angry and worried. Thank god for the Internet because I was able to do enough research on it to not freak out. It cleared up and hasn’t been a problem since but, Jesus Christ, talk to your patients before stabbing them in the head with a needle.)
(The dentist’s assistant has treated me like a child the whole time because I said I have a needle phobia. Important note: I am in therapy for this, and the coping mechanism I learned was to steel myself for it, to watch it. I know most nurses think that it’s better not to watch, but I got the phobia from a bunch of medical students practicing on me at age 10, and not letting me say no or have any control over the situation at all. They practiced until my parents came in and threatened them. Since then, I have needed to prepare and watch.)
Assistant: “So we’re going to give you some numbing, okay, sweetie?”
Me: “Okay. Just tell me when you’re using the needle. I need to know.”
Assistant: “Of course, honey. Now I’m just going to make sure your teeth are squeaky clean for the procedure.”
(She starts using different tools, and I let my mind wander… until I feel a needle pierce my gums. I jump.)
Me: *mumbling because of her hand* “Hey! I told you to tell me!”
Assistant: “Tell you what, sweetie?”
Me: “When you used the needle!”
Assistant: “There’s no needle, silly!”
(I push my tongue against the side. I can also feel it on my lips. This is freaking me out worse than if she had told me.)
Me: “Uh-huh!”
Assistant: “Stop being ridiculous!” *finishes the injection, pulls out the needle* “There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
(I started having flashbacks so I couldn’t even respond. I got up and ran into the bathroom, barricading the door. The dental assistant acted confused and surprised and asked me what’s wrong. I didn’t answer her. The dentist ended up rescheduling my appointment, but brushed it off when I told him what she did. I didn’t let her touch me again.)
You Keep Using That Word. I Do Not Think It Means What You Think It Means
Medical Office, Michigan, USA | Healthy | December 19, 2017
(I am waiting for an appointment in a medical office. The office shares a waiting room with a medical laboratory. Those there for the lab take a number, while those seeing a specialist have appointments. Several other patients, including the rude patient, are waiting to be seen.)
Medical Person #1: “Number 32?”
Patient #1: “That’s me”
Rude Patient: “I was here first! I am number 34. You need to see me now!”
Medical Person #1: “Ma’am, he has a lower number than you do. I’ve told you twice already, I can’t skip you forward in the line. We see people in the order they show up, and this man was here before you. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have a lower number than you do.”
Rude Patient: “I have another appointment before [time half an hour from now]. You need to see me right now.”
Medical Person #1: “Ma’am, we see people in the order of their numbers. You will be seen when it is your turn,and not before then. If you need to leave before that, you can go, and come back when you have more time. I can’t guarantee how soon you’d be seen.”
([Medical Person #1] goes through the door with [Patient #1].)
Rude Patient: “She is very rude!”
(Rude patient pulls open the sliding window where the receptionist for the medical office sits, and launches into her complaint.)
Rude Patient: “That woman is very rude! It is my turn, and she’s seeing other people. You need to make sure that I am next!”
Receptionist: “Ma’am, I’ve already explained this to you. I have nothing to do with the lab. I am the receptionist for [Doctor #1] and [Doctor #2]. The lab is a separate thing, and I have no control over that. But people at the lab are always seen in order of their numbers.”
Rude Patient: “You! What is your number?”
Me: “I have an appointment to see [Doctor #1]. I don’t have a number.”
Rude Patient: “You! What is your number?”
Patient #2: “I am number 36.” *points to the man next to her* “He is number 37.”
(While rude patient keeps muttering about how rude [Medical Person #1] is, [Medical Person #2] comes out wearing scrubs but limping out the door in a cast. She is immediately accosted by the rude patient.)
Rude Patient: “The other girl is very rude! I had an appointment downstairs, and they sent me to get lab work done, but that woman is seeing everyone else first and not letting me go. I have another appointment!”
([Medical Person #2] spends several minutes confirming that everyone else had lower numbers than the rude patient, and explaining that people are always seen in order in the lab. While this happens, another patient comes out.)
Rude Patient: “You! What was your number?”
Patient #3: “Um, 30, I think? I threw it out as soon as they called me.”
Medical Person #2: “It sounds like you’re probably next, ma’am. You can either wait here for her to be ready for you, or you can go to any of our locations later today if you have somewhere else you need to be.”
Rude Patient: “But she is so rude!”
Me: “Ma’am, she wasn’t rude. She was frustrated. From what everyone has said, everyone who has been seen before you has had a lower number than you. That means they were here before you. And she said that she had already explained that she couldn’t jump you ahead of other people in the line, which means you were probably demanding that before I showed up. You just don’t like being told that. Frankly, you need to either sit down and wait your turn, or go to your other appointment and then either come back here or go to one of the other lab locations when you have the time and won’t yell at people for doing their job. But the fact that you didn’t get your way doesn’t make someone else rude.”
Rude Patient: “That’s very rude of you. You need to respect your elders!”
(I shake my head and go back to my book.)
Medical Person #1: “Number 33?… If there’s no number 33, number 34?”
Rude Woman: “Finally!”
(I really don’t think the rude patient understood the meaning of the word rude.)
Dentist, Florida, USA | Healthy | December 19, 2017
(I have to get all four wisdom teeth removed just before starting my senior year of high school, and one of them gives me trouble. When we cut the small stitches out, we find the space where that tooth had been still has a little bit open, but don’t think it warrants another stitch. My dentist is explaining safety rules for food and drinks, considering the small hole in my gums.)
Dentist: “Don’t chew on that side if you can avoid it; don’t have anything with alcohol—”
Me: “Well, there goes my entire high school career.”
Canada, Hospital, Kingston, Ontario | Healthy | December 18, 2017
(I’m in the hospital for debilitating migraines. The pain is vomit-inducing and has no discernible cause. After a slight abnormality shows on the CAT, they send me for an MRI.)
Doctor: “So, we didn’t find the cause of the headaches, but we did find a blood clot, so we’ll be giving you some new medications.”
(My mom and I are horrified at the idea of a blood clot in my brain, of course, and before we can come to terms with what that means the doctor is gone.)
Mom: “Okay, you are NOT moving from this bed! One bad move and the clot could shift, so you have to be INCREDIBLY careful!”
(For two days I barely leave my bed, even to go to the bathroom. They book more tests, but none to do with blood clots. Finally, two days later…)
Mom: *interrupting Doctor* “Okay, a lumbar punctures will help the blood clot how exactly?!”
Doctor: *surprised* “Oh, the clot is old and in a drainage artery. There’s no danger of that hurting the brain!”
(If we hadn’t been so relieved I think my mom would have throttled that doctor for making her think her daughter was on death’s door for two days!)
Arizona, Medical Office, USA | Healthy | December 17, 2017
(I’m headed to a doctor’s appointment that I scheduled two weeks prior. The appointment time is 3:30 and that was confirmed twice while talking to the receptionist, and I was left a voicemail the day before my appointment again confirming my 3:30 check in. I always like to arrive early because I work in the medical field myself and I know how important it is to be in time. I show up at a very prompt 3:10.)
Me: “Hi, I’m early but I’m here to check in for my 3:30 appointment.”
Receptionist: *very blankly* “Name.”
Me: *says name*
Receptionist: *SIGH* “Let me ask the doctor is she can see you because you’re really late.”
(The receptionist walks away before I can say anything. She comes back and rolls her eyes.)
Receptionist: “I guess she’ll see you, but you’re late.”
Me: “I’m twenty minutes early. My appointment is 3:30.”
Receptionist: “No, you’re twenty minutes late. Fill this out so she can take you back.”
(It’s not worth the fight, so I sit down and finish the paperwork. Soon after, the door swings open and the doctor calls my name.)
Doctor: “Hurry back. I need to rush because you’re very late and now my schedule is behind.”
Me: “My appointment was 3:30. I’m early.”
Doctor: “That’s not what my schedule says. You’re holding up my day.”
Me: “I have a voicemail even confirming my time!”
Doctor: *rolls eyes* “Sure you do. Hurry up.”
(I’m so annoyed with being called a liar I play the voicemail on speaker.)
Doctor: “Oh. They did say to check in at 3:30. But you’re still late; now hurry up.”
(I was so annoyed but the wait on this appointment was forever and I just quickly did the appointment. She was terrible and I never went back after that.)
Hospital, Idaho, USA | Healthy | December 16, 2017
(I’ve just had major surgery on my leg and have been taken to my room. I begin to feel chilled, so I press the call button. The nurse who responds covered me with an additional blanket, but after a short time I am so cold I was shivering, so another blanket is added. Within about an hour two more blankets are added but I am colder than ever. Then the charge nurse comes in on her rounds.)
Me: *violently shivering* “C-c-cold!”
Nurse: *having just taken my vitals* “You’re practically hypothermic. Let me check your leg and then I’ll see what else we can do to warm you up.” *checks my leg* “Oh. How long has your leg been packed in ice?!”
Me: “Ice?”
(Neither of us knew, so it must have been done before I awoke from anesthesia which means it had been there for at quite some time. Each blanket that was added sealed in the cold that much more, so of course I was freezing! The ice was quickly removed and with five or six blankets covering me I warmed up pretty fast.)
Food & Drink, Medical Office, Pennsylvania, USA, Williamsport | Healthy | December 15, 2017
(I’ve been a diabetic for over 42 years, so I’m a bit “old school” when it comes to caring for my diabetes. Still, I must be doing something right, as my control has been fairly tight up until recently. Because of new issues, I go to see an endocrinologist and am discussing my diet with her. And as dismayed as I am to say it, I’m about 60 lbs overweight.)
Doctor: “How many carbs do you eat per meal?”
Me: “Oh, three, sometimes four. If I’m feeling particularly crazy, I’ll have up to five, but that’s my limit.”
Doctor: *looking at me in horror* “How many?!”
Me: “Three or four.”
Doctor: “Grams?”
Me: *holding my arms wide* “Do I look like a mouse? I’m talking about the diabetic exchange, doc. Fifteen grams is one carb, and I eat three or four carbs per meal, with two carbs being a snack.”
Doctor: “Oh, God! I thought you were eating only three or four grams per meal.”
Canada, Medical Office, Ontario, Toronto | Healthy | December 15, 2017
(I was just recently diagnosed with pretty severe asthma. This winter, I start feeling odd in my chest whenever I breathe, and it’s causing me great anxiety, so I go to my GP.)
Me: “Whenever I breathe my chest feels odd, and it’s difficult to get deep breaths.”
Doctor: “So, don’t breathe; problem solved.”
Me: *awkward laugh* “Yeah, I guess so, but I was hoping for a more permanent solution.”
Doctor: “Take your inhaler.”
Me: “Yes, I am, but it doesn’t help.”
Doctor: “So, don’t breathe.”
(I ended up walking out and going to the ER. It wasn’t life-threatening and they just told me to take something over-the-counter medicine for a month, and to avoid going outside in extremely cold weather.)
England, Kent, Pharmacy, UK | Healthy | December 14, 2017
(I am waiting patiently for a prescription to be filled in a quiet pharmacy.)
Pharmacist: “Found it; here you go!”
Me: *takes bagged item* “Thanks.”
Pharmacist: “No problem, bye!”
Me: “Uhh… I still need to pay for this.”
Pharmacist: “Oh! I’m so sorry. Thank you for your honesty.” *rings up the transaction*
Me: “Well, not that I would anyway, but it would be kind of stupid for me to run off, seeing as you know exactly who I am and where I live.” *gestures to my address printed on the bag*
Pharmacist: “You wouldn’t believe what some people try.”
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