I’m just going to get right into my total lack of sanity and/or luck.
On Wednesday, as I was walking to Grand Central after work as I do daily, I saw a homeless man whose sign read “Sorry to be a burden” along with a plea for help. I have to say, I have never related so much to a homeless man in my life. I can’t say that this is the first time I have ever related to a homeless person, and it certainly won’t be the last, but this really got me.
This interaction set off a shit storm of emotions. I realized that most of my insecurities/anxieties in life stem from the fact that I desperately don’t want to be a burden, but very frequently feel like one. Is this the fault of the people around me? Probably not. How will I stop seeing myself as a burden to the people I love? I do not know. Am I incredibly needy? Guess it depends who you ask.
On top of this realization, I had the most interesting (aka, torturous) time while trying to get my birth control pills this weekend.
Again, I shall explain.
I had been trying to get my brain (which is normally induced in either a wine or boredom coma) to remember to call the pharmacy so I could pick up my pills before Saturday when I had to start a new pack.
Did I remember? Of course not.
So on Saturday, I began by calling my local CVS. A man who I could hardly understand answered and told me I had no refills.
“That’s odd,” I say patiently, “I was supposed to get three last time and only got one so you should have the other two,” I try to explain.
They did not have them. Neither did my other pharmacy. I called CVS again. The lady was a total bitch, attempting to explain the law to me. After I asked her if she could call pharmacy B, she sassed me and said I would have to call and explain it to them (again). That makes sense, right, because I’m a pharmacist and all.
I took pharmacy B’s advice and called the doctor. Problem is, it’s a fucking Saturday. Please find me a gynecologist who is open on Saturday. I fucking dare you.
My asshole self connects with someone designated to work for the office, and she checks to see if the blessed doctors can send a new prescription over being that the incompetence of two pharmacies have managed to lose it. She was the only competent person in this whole story.
About 20 minutes later, I get a call from a man who doesn’t introduce himself. He tells me he can’t send over the prescription because the office is closed and sometimes people call who don’t actually go to that office. I wonder, if the office is closed then who the hell are you? I ask him again, if he could please just send it over. I think, clearly my agitation indicated that my hormones are fucked up, so please send the damn script. No can do, he insists.
As if I wasn’t agitated enough, this annoying man begins to lecture me about my sexual health. I will outline this infuriating conversation below:
Man: You start your pills on a Saturday? That’s weird.
Me in my head: Oh sorry I didn’t conveniently keep my period’s end-date on Sunday for three goddamn years, my bad.
Man: I can’t send it over. You can just take two pills on Monday and two on Tuesday and you should be protected. You know, if you want to be extra protected you can just use condoms. But in the future you should really be on top of this so you can call while the office is open.
Me in my head: HOLY SHIT GO FUCK YOURSELF! How are you employed by a gynecologist and you think the the only reason women take birth control is sex related??!?! How is my reproductive health any of your concern right now??? You are not my doctor! You are not my mother! You are not my sexual partner! Please fuck off!
Me: Well, the pharmacy filled the script wrong which is why I am in this situation.
Lucky for this man, I had already spent my daily energy yelling at pharmacists and had no yelling left inside my tiny soul.
To top it all off, I visited pharmacy B (conveniently located in a supermarket) and noticed that the pharmacist I had been frustratedly venting about my birth control struggles with all day was, in fact, my middle school crush.
A few short hours later, I got a call from the asshole telephone man saying he was sending the script over. Glad you realized how much of an ass you were, I thought.
Eternal mood: Judge Judy
That, my friend, is how I spent my Saturday.
It’s been looking up since then, to be honest, but clearly my patience is worn thin.
Wish me the best of luck, I clearly need it.
The Basic One.