Tuesday, December 1, 2015

2 refills before

(From (Elias Almeida's) Heartbreak Comedy Tour.)

WARNINGS: Language.

Rock 'n' Read

Elias had to write probably at least six punchlines by tomorrow, and he couldn’t because he had other things to do.  One of those things was to call the pharmacy.  There was nothing like calling a pharmacy for refills on one’s psychotropic medication to stifle the creative juices.

Make some jokes.  YOU’RE LOSING IT!  Make some jokes.  Hellish.

Thank you for calling CVS Pharmacy, congratulated the automated man’s voice, and Elias laughed because even automated men thought he had any choice in the matter.

To refill a prescription, press one.

He’d forgotten to pull up the number keypad.  How many times had he done this now?  Enough to consider hiring a personal assistant whose only job was to call the pharmacy for refills.  And still, he routinely forgot to have ready the number keypad.  He found it and pressed one, wondering briefly what on earth else people called chain pharmacies for besides refilling prescriptions.  Hello sir, I would like to file a complaint about the length of my coupon-laden receipt.

Please enter the RX number printed on the blue label

Elias fumbled to tug the empty prescription bottle from his pocket, dropped it, accidentally knocked it with his sneaker toe, and swore his way across the kitchen floor until he captured it again.

“Come here, you little semi-transparent orange plastic shit.”

In the time it took, the automated man had assumed Elias dead and begun to repeat himself.

Please enter the RX number

“I know, I know, I know!”  His hands felt shaky and his chest whirred, like somebody had stuck a small fan inside and forgotten to switch it off.  It was the feeling of impending doom never realized.  This was existence without the pills.

printed on the blue label

He interrupted the automaton and slowly, uncertainly typed the digits he saw on the blue label.  Printed in the same place they always were.  He did appreciate how refilling a prescription did not have to involve speaking to an actual human being on the phone.  What kind of sadistic bastards would pharmacists be if they required their unstable clientele to speak to them?

Elias shuddered at the idea.  He had no compassion for the human race today, and he wouldn’t speak any more than necessary.  He’d bundle up in his bulkiest grayest hoodie and sweats and roll into that pharmacy with a glower and a touch of B.O., like a thug looking for a hookup.  Which, in a sense, was exactly true.

If you wish to pick up your prescription… (Unnecessary pause.) …today.  Press one.

He snorted.

If you wish to have this medication as soon as possible in order to remain sane for the next 24 hours and not suffer possibly debilitating panic attacks and/or mood swings and violent storms of depression which directly affect both your personal safety and the emotional wellbeing of your dearest loved ones and friends, press one.

“So many options,” sighed Elias, pressing one.

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