Adventures in the Strange Land of Retail Pharmacy

I hadn't even managed to get both arms into my sexy short-sleeved white coat when I experienced yesterday's first encounter.

"Do you have that stuff.. that witch stuff?" stammered one of the most unattractive women I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. Assuming she wasn't referring to the overstock of Halloween apparel, which CVS still advertises for a reason that is beyond my pharmacist-knowledge, I pointed her in the direction of the witch hazel. I watched her pick up a bottle of witch hazel and stare at the label for a decent minute. I could only presume that she was reading the instructions. Maybe I misjudged this woman; after all, that's more than the majority of my customers venture to do. It was just then, just as I was elevating this woman's decency standards in my mind, that she twisted the cap off the bottle and nonchalantly poured its entire 12 ounce contents onto her face.

Recall now that this is not my normal retail store. In fact, retail pharmacy is not my normal pharmacy at all. I was speechless. I grabbed the nearest technician and turned her in the direction of the now kneeling, gasping customer dripping with witch hazel.

This sequence of events seriously happened. Honestly. Unsuspecting relief pharmacist thought I was being helpful. Apparently the act of changing into my sexy white coat sent Mrs. Witch Hazel Lady into a downward spiral. I soon learned why, as apparently this is a tradition for this particular customer at this particular store. You see, Mrs. Witch Hazel Lady is a clinically demented patient, read: crazy old lady, who lives around the corner from said pharmacy. She has delusions that she is an actual witch.. and apparently hunted by witch-hunters wearing white lab coats. Really. The witch-hood, I hear, is cured by witch hazel baths. Who knew.

This, my friends, is why I don't make a habit of working retail pharmacy. And this is why I definitely don't work holidays.