I will be the first to say about ninety percent of our customers are awesome.   We know them personally, ask about their spouses, loved ones and sometimes other things going on in their lives.  And they appreciate that we reach out and remember things about them.  

 

Which brings me to those customers in that awful ten percent.

 

Mr. Smith, who shows up five minutes before closing, demanding that we refill all eight of his prescriptions because he is out of pills.  Which we end up leaving ten minutes late, but he doesn't care.  And this doesn't just happen once or twice, nay, this is his monthly thing.  

 

It wouldn't be so bad if he didn't act like it was our fault.  He grumbles that it wouldn't happen at a big chain pharmacy.

 

One day, David, the usually jovial, joking pharmacist, overheard Mr. Smith.  He looked up from where he was counting the medication and frowned.  "I'm sorry, Mr. Smith, what are you saying?"

 

Mr. Smith, unbeknownst to him, had caught sweet David on a very bad day.

 

"I said it's your job to make sure I don't run out of my pills," Mr. Smith said in his arrogant way.

 

David stopped counting, walked around the counter and looked Mr. Smith dead in the eye.

 

"I am a pharmacist.  It is not my job to babysit you and your medication.  Now we are closed as of eight minutes ago.  You can pick up your medications tomorrow after we reopen for business or you can have another pharmacy call for a transfer.  Now you can leave."  He turned and went over to where the light switches were and cut off the overhead lights.

 

Mr. Smith sputtered and backed out, no doubt he was shocked that his proverbial ass wasn't kissed.

 

Mr. Smith made sure that he came for his prescriptions in a timely manner from that day forward. 

 

Then we have Isaac.   He is the creepy guy I based Ed Preston on.  If you read my Miranda book, you know Ed.  Of course, I took artistic license with the character but this guy's vibe was just as creepy.

 

Isaac was a control freak all wrapped up in an overweight, half deaf, country boy.  Sounds innocent enough, but he would come in at closing time, to "pick up a few things."

 

He'd read labels, pick things methodically off the shelf, turn it over in his hand, then put it back.  It was nothing for him to spend twenty minutes looking for something.  And he was creepy. 

 

One of the girls that worked there whispered to me, " You just know his lampshades are made of human skin."

 

I'm the kind of person who,when it's quitting time, I want to get the hell out of Dodge.  I've been standing on my feet since about 6 a.m. and I'm ready to go.

 

On the days he was scheduled to come pick up his medication I would go to the door and look out into the parking lot.   He'd be sitting in his car reading the paper and wouldn't get out until two or three minutes before closing time.

 

I went and grabbed the owner, told him this jerk's pattern of waiting in the parking lot until a few minutes to closing.  

 

"Why do you think he does this?" the owner asked.

 

"He can control us.  It's weird but he knows we can't leave until he decides we can leave.  Will you please say something to him "

 

So, Steve the owner waited by the door and at one minute to closing, Mr. Creepy steps inside.

 

"We're about to close. "

 

Mr. Creepy nods and smiles.  "I just need to pick up a few things."

 

He took his sweet time ambling down the first aisle.   

 

Steve walked over to him.  "Tell me what  you need and I'll grab them for you."

 

"I don't really know,  I'll be along in a few minutes."

 

Steve shook his head.  "No, I'm sorry but tonight I have some place to be and I can't wait.  If you want to pick up your prescriptions, you need to make your way to the register. Or you can just leave and shop tomorrow."

 

Mr. Creepy turned and with a red face went ballistic.  "How dare you.  I'm an invalid.  You can't treat people like this.  I can't help that I can't get here until you're almost closed."

 

Steve didn't miss a beat.  "You sit in your car for fifteen minutes reading the paper before you come in.  So you can get in here quicker.  You choose not to.  And my employees are tired.  They have families they want to go home and see."

 

Mr. Creepy puffed up and took a step towards Steve.  He looked crazy.

 

"I can take you out," he hissed at Steve.

 

Steve, who has a conceal carry license, lifted the edge of his shirt just enough to show the butt of the glock in his holster.

 

"Bad idea."

 

Mr. Creepy hightailed it to the door leaving in his wake a stream of obscenities and threats.

 

Steve locked the door and we closed down the store.  "Well, I took care of that.  Do you think he got the hint?"

 

I'm pretty sure he did.  I'm just wondering if he had to change his underpants when he got home.

 

But like I said, there are just a few bad apples in the bunch.

 

Next time I'll tell a story about a good customer.