You know what I hate worse than – well, than almost anything? I hate going to the cobbling farmacy. Seriously. You pull up to drop off your prescription, or – if you’re like me and actually get off your lazy ass – go inside and wait at the counter. You wait while someone says, “Someone will be right with you.” Then you stand there watching them act like they’re doing something really important. More important than you, the customer. Which is the whole reason for their existence.
So after standing there for a pre-determined amount of time that only they can deem appropriate, someone finally decides to walk over and take your scrip. So you stand there while they key it in, then ask you when you’d like to pick it up. Wait. What? Mother cobbler, if it’s gonna be ready in ten minutes, you tell me to come back in ten minutes. Don’t ask me so I might say twenty which gives you a ten-minute break! Cock! Tell me the soonest possible time I can return and pick it up. That fries me, seriously. Then they tell you it will be ready in an hour (after you’ve requested a ten-minute return time). So you return in an hour only to stand there and wait another twenty minutes while they get ready to serve you. Then they finally come to the counter, get your name – as if they don’t remember it – and then say, “Oh he’s filling it right now. It will be ready in just a moment, please have a seat.”
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