today, I appreciated a short moment of my job where I reflected on my own situation and concluded I'm really a lucky person.
to pander to HIPAA, I will call the lady with the 8-packs-a-day rasp Nancy. Nancy is perpetually stoned and has trouble speaking and breathing at the same time. today, we added counting money to her long list of greats feats to overcome. Nancy struggled to sign for her prescription and the other highly repetitive steps that one goes through to obtain meds. I told her that her total prescription and OTC items amounted to $15.02, or "fifteen oh two."
her shallow eyes moved their empty glance to her fanny pack, and she unzipped her small coin purse. she dragged her fingers through the change and plopped two pennies on the counter. she then continued rummaging and dropped a nickel and then two other nickels on the counter and slid them over to me.
I waited. she waited. her facial expression demanded, "WTF, take my money."
"it's 15 dollars. and two cents."
"that's what I gave you."
I stared at her.
"that's 17 cents."
Nancy stared back at me. "no. oh." silence. "oh." and then she went to her fanny pack to draw out a twenty dollar bill. because apparently, you have to be really effing stoned to try to pass off fifteen plus two cents to your cunning pharmacy tech.
even on my worst days, I'm pretty sure I remember that red means stop and green means go and you should never trust a stranger.
so I'm home now, about to enjoy a glass of passion fruit rum and an action movie and relish the lack of outside stupidity encroaching on my space.
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