Complex Numbers

Being a Pill

Very close to completing all the prompts at "JAFBG"  [XGC]...

Tell us about something/someone that fucked you off this week.

Ah, yes, the recurring reason to rant. Thing is, if I'd drawn this prompt with my random numbers earlier this month, I would have been stumped. For most of it, I didn't experience more than minor inconvenience, nothing worthy of a full-blown rant.

All that changed starting last Saturday.

Friday, with two pills left in each of my daily prescriptions, I called the pharmacy for refills. This is an automated system, which is fine; you just key in the prescription number for each one, the robot confirms it, and then, when you're done, you get told when they'll be ready for pickup. In this case, they clearly and unambiguously said "Saturday at 11 am."

Now, there's something else you need to know about my prescriptions. I think I've ranted about it before, but just to recap: My insurance sucks. The doctor sends a prescription for a 90-day supply. If I use my insurance, I have to get a 30-day supply, and it costs about $30. Here's the whatthe part: If I don't use insurance for the prescription, they happily sell me a 90-day supply. For about $30.

You read that right: With insurance, $90 for a 90-day supply. Without insurance, $30 for a 90-day supply.

There are other details, but that's the outline of it. So, getting back to the timeline here, remember, the prescriptions would be ready by 11am on Saturday. Well, I had other stuff to do Saturday, so I showed up at the pharmacy at 3pm. This particular pharmacy is in a grocery store, and I'm pretty sure they have standing orders to delay things to encourage people to shop. Still, I fully expected that, having been told the pills would be ready at 11, surely, definitely, without fail, they'd be done four hours later?

If you're reading this, you can guess what didn't happen.

And this wasn't the usual "oh, it'll be ready in 20 minutes; why don't you take a look at our lovely endcap displays and seasonal merchandise while you wait." No, it was "It might take an hour or so, if you want to come back." Well, I told them I'd come back the next day. Which was, if you've been keeping track, Sunday.

I walk in and the cashier is like "I can't find it."

I felt rage boiling up inside me. None of those pills are specifically for rage, either pro or con, but I'd cut it too close: failure to receive my prescriptions that day would mean missing at least one dose. Which, to be fair, probably wouldn't kill me, but I'd feel obligated to report it to my doctor later, and she'd undoubtedly shake her head in disapproval. Which is crushing.

So it wasn't really about the pills themselves, at this point. It was more about being jerked around by robots and cashiers. "But Waltz, isn't that just another minor inconvenience?" Yes, except that I have to deal with some kind of bullshit every time I get the pills, which, if you're following along, you know is four times a year. It wears on me. At least it's not 12 times a year, though, right?

My boil was short-lived, however; she somehow found the prescriptions. But then my brain went to: "Okay, if they forgot and used insurance, I'm going to blow my shit."

Fortunately, everything was in order. So the saga ends, anticlimactically, but at least without bloodshed.