I’m talking about the partitioned part where the Vicodin lives. True, if prehistoric birds attacked the store or there was a hostage situation, I’d always pick Pill Land over the candy lane as a spot to hole up. But in everyday, regular circumstances, it’s a terrifying, naked place. This leads me to admit that I’m there constantly because I cannot get my inhaler, my high blood pressure pills, and my Ambien dolls coordinated for the same pickup; as a result, I know everyone there on a first-name basis. You’re not supposed to know the white-coats by name until you’re about sixty-eight, but at least I’m ahead of schedule for something. Still, when I get the phone call reminding me that my prescription is ready to be picked up, I shudder. If you really want to be afraid for mankind, you don’t even need to know who Paul Ryan is. All you have to do is lurk for five minutes by the pharmacy. Six Things I Never Want to Hear While Standing in Line at the Pharmacy. Again. 6. “Do you know where the stuff for lice is?
What do You think about The Potty Mouth At The Table?
