Phretphul Phuss

One evening, in a busy late night pharmacy, I was handed a prescription from my pre-registrant pharmacist. He said to me, “This lady would like you to hand out this script to her. You’ll like her,” with a cheeky grin on his face.

“Ok…” I replied cautiously as I continued dispensing.

When I completed the prescription order handed to me by my pre-registrant pharmacist, I called out the name on the prescription and was greeted by a short stumpy woman, likely to be mid 50’s, with short brown hair and glasses. I explained what I needed to about her prescription, and then placed her script paper on the counter for her to sign the bottom. At the time, I could not find a pen for her to use. I apologised and headed back to the dispensary to pick up one of my reliable pens then went back to the counter where she was waiting rather impatiently.

“Here’s a pen,” I said handing it over to her.

Immediately she responded by saying, “No!” I was a little shocked to hear that kind of response and didn’t understand what she meant by it. I was just handing her a pen to use.

“Not like that,” she continued. “Put it down!”

“Excuse me?” I replied confused. “Put what down?”

“The pen!” She said. “Put it on the table.”

“You can just take the pen from me. Here,” As I held out the pen to her.

“No! You’re not listening. Put it on the table.”

“Would you like another pen?” I went to grab another pen from the dispensary, but before I could walk more than 2 steps, she said, “No!” again with a frustrated sigh.

“Put the pen on the table so I can pick it up. I can’t touch it from you directly.”

At that point I felt a little dirty. Did she think I had some sort of disease? Cooties? And she couldn’t touch the pen while I had hold of it?

I put the pen on the table with hesitation and a puzzled look on my face. “See. Now I can pick it up,” she exclaimed as she signed her prescription.

I collected the signed script and the pen from the counter and put them out of the way then asked how she wanted to pay for it.

“Credit,” she replied as she threw her card on the table so that I wasn’t touching the card while she was holding it.

“You’ll need to sign the bottom of the receipt for the credit card purchase,” I explained as I put the receipt down on the table and handed her the pen again. She took the pen directly from my hand.

“Nooooo….” She sighed, closed her eyes and threw her head back as she realised she had taken the pen directly from my hands. “Now I’m infected,” she complained with a solemn dismay. “You need to put the pen on the counter first before I can touch it.” She placed the pen on the counter then picked it up again as if that would reverse the ‘infection.’

“Oh…” I said as I realised she had some form of anxiety, most likely about personal contact or hygiene.

She signed the credit card slip, finished the transaction and left the pharmacy in a sombre mood about what had just transpired.

Meanwhile, my pre-registrant pharmacist remained in the dispensary with a grin from ear to ear.