So Many Pills and Now with MORE Time!
by Traci Foust
I’d like to congratulate everyone for making it through Mental Health month. Those of you whose court dates have been pushed up another week, you know who you are. Besides forgetting all that admittance-is-the-first-step nonsense just in time for Cinco De Mayo, it seems we now have our very own thirty-one days to celebrate the inability to make healthy decisions and produce serotonin. So let’s take a moment to back away from the thrill of marking the night the condom broke with another Mother’s Day card and honor one of the most exalted days of Spring.
I’m talking of course about May 4th: National Renewal Day.
Snopes it if you must, this jubilee of all things expiring is a real holiday. We’re talking about an entire day to not only remember your risk-free trial of the Shake Weight is about to expire— along with your hopes of cougaring your way back into your old high school tank tops—but a legitimate excuse to run to the pharmacy for a medication refill.
As if we needed any.
Which brings me to the reason I’m late finishing this essay. Why I’ve never been assigned a designated parking spot at the CVS I have no idea, but it’s not in my nature to get upset about long lines (especially when obsessing about the rise in Botox fatalities is much more satisfying.) On the contrary, half an hour with OK Magazine and some rude people allows me plenty of time to play Which Olsen Twin Wears the Most Eclectic Scarves while providing enough material for a full day’s worth of Facebook status updates: OMG. Someone needs to tell the Whole Foods produce guy that wearing deodorant and keeping Pandas safe doesn’t have to be an either-or situation.
But here’s the thing: Last week I was almost arrested for being nice to the woman in front of me. I consider that to be kind of upsetting.
Apparently there was a problem with her insurance not giving the green light regarding a very special type of antibiotic for her very special cough which was both as special and important as she was; a fact made clear by the way she tapped her French manicured nails against the counter while her diamond tennis bracelet dazzled against the white sunspots of her dark orange skin (An SPF trademark among Southern California women who have not yet hit on the idea that a ten dollar bottle of sunscreen is much more cost effective than a two hundred dollar chemical peel). Or perhaps it was the way she emphasized how badly she needed her medication due to the fact that her plane was taking off in the next hour. Not her flight, you understand, her actual airplane.
Something else that was plain to see was this woman had a serious case of bronchitis. She was sweating profusely and making lung noises as hard on the ear as Whitney Houston’s last concert. I couldn’t not feel sorry for her. Sometimes, I’m nice like that. Really, when I can get my germaphobia under control long enough to forget that a doorknob without hand sanitizer is the same as a Tokyo subway full of SARS carriers, you can almost mistake me for someone who cares. Plus, I’m kind of an opportunist when it comes to meeting folks whom I may need to keep under Special Contacts in my phone. Isn’t it awesome how we’re total besties just from that chance meeting in the emergency room? Say, remember all those Percocet you said you’d never be able to finish… [Read more...]