My feet contact the ground in a steady rhythm, loosely protected by a pair of unfastened sandals. I am running across a dark Rite-Aid parking lot towards the welcoming entrance doors, left wide open on this beautiful October night, an indication that even the mosquitoes know that this warm weather is only temporary, and that they no longer have dominion over human outdoor experiences.
I typically do things for a reason, and this time I have two brilliant justifications for my apparent pedestrian impatience. On one hand, I am keeping one very lovely human waiting for a pack of Zyrtec (because just because you are comfortable enough to cry in front of each other does not mean that you should be crying continuously), and, on the other hand, I do like to run.
I scan the shelves carefully in an attempt to fulfill my quest without significant delay - but to my dismay, Zyrtec is the only item I am not finding. Still hoping for quick service, I approach the pharmacy counter and discover my coveted prize stacked neatly behind the two highly trained and professionally attired attendants, currently engaged with the two people ahead of me in the queue. A stern warning sign reminds me to respect their privacy and wait my turn, and that is what I do.
After a while, one of the employees decides to improve throughput through the use of pipelining, and asks me a question via human long distance communication technology (aka yelling): "What is your last name?" Having watched the process for some time, I immediately infer that she is expecting that I am here for a pre-existing prescription, and thus I preempt the useless search she is about to embark on with a direct answer: "I am just here for the Zyrtec". She gives me a knowing nod and proceeds to look around her in a somewhat absent minded manner dominated by focused disinterest.
It is quite clear that her surroundings are failing to entertain her for very long, as only ten seconds later she looks up at me and repeats the question, an inquiry which, unsurprisingly, yields the same answer. I believe that this time I see a spark of cognition in her eyes, and indeed her second survey of the land is not limited to the ceiling, but appears to be focused on the general area of my interest. As I finally approach the counter, I find myself looking at a pack of Zyrtec that is so close that I could (and do) touch it, and yet it is so far…
In truth, I knew this going in - a few cursory Google searches revealed that Zyrtec is a highly controlled product because it can be used to make meth. Thus I am not surprised when the two indifferently nice ladies request my drivers license. I am surprised, however, when they request that I swipe my license through the credit card reader. Figuring that they must know something I don't, I obediently run my non-magnetic piece of plastic through the magnetic reader slot. The ladies clearly believe that in addition to presenting a malfunctioning license I lack fine motor skills to properly operate complex technology, and proceed to swipe my license for me repeatedly for some time without success, producing only a mixture of frustration and disbelief.
Eventually, they switch tactics and attempt to have my license communicate with the RFID reader in the same device. We are clearly living in the dark ages in New Jersey, because my very pretty holographic identification card does not appear to be all that open to either form of communication, and is thus probably vastly inferior to its Pennsylvanian counterparts. Some five minutes later, the puzzled and frustrated employees finally admit defeat and concede to proceeding manually. This process involves typing the entire 15 digit license number into the point-of-sale unit using only their fingernails.
Some 20 minutes later, I leave the store with a pack of Zyrtec and newfound interest in watching Breaking Bad.
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