Blog of Magic Cheese

It's been 3 weeks.

I understand that with a new insurance card, these things can be complicated. That's why I was understanding when you couldn't fill my prescription when I showed up, or even when I showed up 5 days later expecting it to have been filled.

It has now been 3 weeks and when I ask about my prescription I get a blank look and vague mumbling while you look it up in the computer. Three. goddamn. weeks. Three weeks and my third trip to visit your unsmiling faces and you have no idea that I had a prescription in the file still waiting to be filled.

You make sixty times as much money as I do. I understand that it's probably poor compensation for putting up with idiot customers who can't remember what medications they're on, who yell at you because they don't understand what a deductible is, and who think it's your fault when their insurance doesn't authorize a medicine.

But I've taken this medicine since 2003, it's covered, I gave you the doctor's scribbly note in mid-December, and it's been three weeks.

These little blue and white pills are the only thing keeping me from being a twitchy incomprehensible savant with rapid eye movement because my brain goes too fast for my own good. They are what is enabling me to hold a job, and you, YOU are the sentinels at the big iron pharmaceutical locked door that permit my drugs through? You're the guardians of the gate, the keepers of the keys, the appointed elite? I could scream.

The only reason I'm not locked up in a room at home either comatose or trying to learn three new computer languages at once is because I keep an emergency supply for situations like this, because between your diarrheac idiocy and insurance companies' bureaucratic bullshit, it's happened plenty of times before.

Wait for another 10 minutes? I've already been here for 20. I'm risking being late for work. Sure I'll wait, but oh look, after 15 minutes have gone by, there's still no sign of my pills showing up or you doing anything about filling them, like you haven't done for the last 3 weeks.

I swear to god, I could fucking kill someone. I don't know if it would be you, or the woman in front of me with a shopping cart full of water, microwave popcorn, and 2 liter bottles of soda that she's paying for over a goddamn pharmacy counter, but I want to grab one of you by the hair, drag you shrieking down the aisle, your clothes making squeaking noises on the linoleum, and take you outside where I will shatter your ribs, kick your internal organs into a pulp, and then curb stomp your head until your skull breaks and I smash your brain like an overripe melon. Then I will leave the body, either wearing its blue vest or in a puddle of high fructose corn syrup toxin, as a warning to anybody that stands between me and my medicine.

I am so angry that my rage on the walk back has me cooking inside my jacket. I can see steam rising from my collar. I fucking hate the pharmacy. And I still don't have my prescription.