They move freely among us with comfort and with ease, and we barely give them a thought. Or perhaps we’re just too afraid. Because on some level, we all register their potential to inflict anguish. To ruin people. Families. Hell, whole civilizations.
They could take us all down in the beat of a heart.
They, my friends, are our friendly, neighborhood pharmacists.
Pharmacists know stuff about us. Sensitive, guilt-inducing, pitiable, intimate, disgusting stuff. Stuff that, if leaked — or announced over a loudspeaker – would unveil us as the unstable, physically defective, sexually inadequate losers we all are. Here are some of the things mine knows, or could surmise, about me:
I’m a wimp about tooth pain.
My bladder balks when I try to pee.
My legs itch after I shave.
I slept with the wrong damn person.
It’s not just humiliation to be feared, either. An angered pharmacist with a smidgen of creativity is a treacherous person indeed.
“Sorry, but your insurance no longer covers Zoloft, or any other antidepressant.”
“They’ve raised the copay on Viagra to $400.00.”
“I’m sure I told you there could be loss of vision, night terrors or incontinence.”
“If your heart medication looks different this month, it’s just the generic.”
They scare me.
What could yours surmise about you?
Exposure | The Password →