So, I succumbed to it. It hovered in the cubicle near me, it hung in the air around me and, then, it pounced.
The Plague.
I didn't want to get to know him, but I couldn't fend off his advances any longer. The runny nose, the puffy eyes, the coughing, the sneezing -- you know what I mean. Practically all of York County has had some meeting with Mr. P. (Luckily, I didn't get to meet his best friend, Pukey.)
And the cure? MEDICINE. (But, it wasn't that easy.)
Since Meth users and drug hounds decided to make a run on cold medicine to feed their addiction, now everyday joes have to suffer when they're sick. No longer are the days where a person can stop by the local drug store or pharmacy and quickly stock up on cold medicine to fight the fever.
Instead, there are little cards that sit on shelves. You pick up the cardboard and bring it to the pharmacy counter, but not before waiting in a line behind other Sickies yearning for relief. On a recent Sunday, I waited in said line just to purchase Tylenol Severe Cold. (The real stuff, not the fake meds without the magical pseudophedrine or however you spell it.)
After 10 minutes in line, the associate asked for my license. He plugged in my license and then told me "you are an invalid person. I can't sell this to you. Next person, please."
I'm sorry. Come again? He told me my license said invalid. I nearly jumped over the counter, through the glass and strangled this jerk. Instead, I "politely" said -- "You can try that again but spell my name correctly next time. You can see from the snot on my face and redness in my eyes that I am not about to use this ONE BOX of medicine to fulfill some meth lab."
He listened. It worked. Thanks, meth labs, for making medicine nearly impossible to buy.
Leave a comment