Pharmacy

The substitute doctor I had today prodded my uterus to see if I was right that Jabberwocky's gone head-down.  She had wonderful soothing hands, and to be honest, this part felt quite incredibly good.  I had to refrain from making my blissful ooh-I'm-getting-a-massage sounds.  Her examination was inconclusive, but she said "I think you're right" twice.

After the appointment I stopped to get a refill of my prenatal vitamin.  The upside to my pharmacy is that it's very close to our house.  The downside is that it seems to be a breeding ground for slump-shouldered, bleary-eyed, disgruntled customers, and frazzled, weary employees.  I don't like going there.  It's always busy and one waits longer than one feels one ought to.  It reminds me of the concession stand at a movie theater, where you know that all you asked for was popcorn and a soda, but after a few minutes you begin to wonder if you threw in a couple weird requests that's got them stumped.  Like, maybe I said: popcorn, soda, and please also take half a box of Junior Mints and half a box of Milk Duds and combine them in an ice cream cone and then hide it for me under my seat.  Because that would explain what's taking so long. 

The difference in today's pharmacy trip was that the manager was there.  Beams of light seemed to emanate from him in that dark place.  He was performing a sort of juggling act.  He greeted one customer, rang up another, filled a prescription here and answered a question there.  Kindness and knowledge flowed from him.  As long as he was present, the balls stayed in the air.  He moved people through the line and sent his employees this way and that to pick up the slack.  The moment he disappeared from view, it was like everybody's shoulders slumped again and the whole place sank back into inefficiency.  What a tough job.