I just cheated on my pharmacist.
After a week of war against what I deemed to be yet-another-head-cold, I finally caved (i.e., panicked myself into a frenzy — I do that, in case it wasn’t already known. I have a thing. I have a lot of things…) and went to the doctor tonight.
The Sanford Walk-in Clinic’s website said the wait time was 45 minutes. I grabbed a book on my way out the door.
Then I passed an urgent care place in a strip mall. There were no cars in the parking light and a neon sign in the window spelled out, “OPEN.” I went in to a dimly lit little reception area where they accepted my insurance and the nurse waited for me to take my coat off because she was ready before I was.
After Andy checked out my ears, sinuses, throat, and lungs, he diagnosed me with bronchitis and a sinus infection. He asked me if I wanted a prescription called in to a pharmacy or if I wanted to use a machine in the hallway.
A machine in the hallway.
I love my pharmacist. She knows my prescriptions, my history, my anxiety, and practically has my home phone number from two houses ago memorized because I lost my CVS card ages ago (and anyway, I have no idea how to cash in on that thing).
But a machine in the hallway.
I don’t know about you, but when I’m sick, I’d rather not stop at a hundred different places plus the wait around time while the scrip is filled.
I used the machine in the hallway.
Every time a patient uses the machine in the hallway, somewhere in the world a pharmacist loses his or her wings.
Sorry, my pharmacist friends. I promise not to abandon you entirely. But the machine in the hallway was pretty awesome. And it was located not ten feet from another fine machine — the Keurig.