Confessions of a Pharmacist

I'll start with avoiding a lawsuit. I'm rather naive about this sort of blogging ritual but the one thing I keep hearing is not to name names. So to avoid any messy litigation, the chain I work for will herein be named CVF or maybe Walblues, no I think it will be Acme drugs. Fictitious, but seems to make its point. In the future if I hear from any well-meaning lawyers out there, maybe I can actually name the chain pharmacy without losing my house, my cat, my son. Big brother really is watching, lurking somewhere behind men's hair dye, around the corner from chondroitin and Maalox.

I began working for Acme Drugs 850 hours ago which in part time parlance is about one and a half years ago... as a pharmacy intern, and in just a few months, will have completed my 1000 requisite hours. Then it's off to a pharmacy law exam which if I pass-never a sure thing-will magically turn me into a full fledged pharmacist. Basically there was a hiatus from pharmacy of approximately 30 years, working as a high school biology teacher (4 years), print broker (15 years), and NY Times freelance writer (3, unless you count rewrites). Of late, in this uncertain, last gasp economy, the broker business has plunged into freefall, the NY Times a tailspin (online and not paying), and that left the one lonesome annoying burr in my sock... pharmacy. But the surprising truth is... tada, drum roll... I really don't hate it. I sort of find it, well, total gravitas, in an overwhelmingly solemn way. The job is important. Nothing fancy, no cocky editors, no frou frou design firms checking 4- color dots. This shit is real. I could kill anyone of you out there by simply being in the middle of a really funny story, with a snappy punchline, as the techs double over in laughter and ... oops, procardia, not prozac... hypotension, fainting, dead on the floor in your suburban split level.