Typing and filling

Reality has settled in over the last few days. A rather sobering affair that reality. So now I know the road ahead, which is to study four hours a day, take the MJPE, PASS MJPE, and get the hell out of Acme as fast as possible.

I worked yesterday, another manic Monday, but surprisingly no one bothered me, except for Rachel saying "what did you do?" when the paper ran out at the cash register. "I didn't do anything!" I snapped back at her. But she was busy giving shots all day and I was mostly left alone filling, then later typing and entering Rx's which went smoothly in that coldly efficient, robotic way.

The hours go by, but I feel sorry for everyone around me. Sorry for the pharmacist Harry, in his late sixties, who has worked in this god forsaken profession for over 35 years, his reddened eczema-scabbed hands and arms to show for it. Sorry for the menopausal clerks with sunken eyes and aching backs who barely say hello in the morning. But mostly sorry for myself; I have a comparison, I know deep down that this is complete drudgery work, that everyone's in it for the money, whether it be the minimum wage, or the $52.00 per hour pharmacist going rate. My little secret...that my old writing life and those years in the print business were pleasureable, yes, even magical.

But who cares, now I'm just one of them. When people approach the counter they see a woman with pursed lips and tri-focal glasses straining to read the computer, or to hear a voice on the phone amid all the chaos. "Are you new?" someone asked yesterday. No, I tell him, I've been here 1000 hours. And counting, I'm thinking. But I get it, I have that look like everything is an effort.