Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Death by pharmacy

So yesterday I'm driving through East Orange, trying to find this independent pharmacy in some faceless strip mall. All around me are police cars straddling curbs and I realize I'm right smack in the middle of a city slum. Not that I didn't have an inkling the neighborhood might be a bit shoddy, but my husband- yes we must blame someone- told me to wait and see, that maybe it wasn't so bad. When I ask a cop for directions he tells me to keep my doors and windows locked. Great, I'm thinking, I'll get a job and robbed the first week, or my car will be broken into, or I'll get shot at and my son will be motherless, and won't Rob feel guilty then.

But I open the car door, walk past a laundromat and liquor store, and step into the pharmacy. Turns out the owner is this sweet, lovely, Indian guy, and well, we really hit it off. I did ask him if it was safe working there and he said he's never had a problem. So if he offers me the job, I will take it. Yes, I'm desperate, but really, how bad could it be (discounting the car break-in or being shot at.)