There is a line in the Coen Brothers' excellent 'Burn After Reading' which came to mind today after a quite tortuous visit to Boots the chemist.
'These are exactly the kind of fucking morons I have been fighting against all my life" says John Malkovic's character at the end of an epic and soul destroying pursuit of two leisure centre workers who had somehow come into possession of Malkovic's highly sensitive government information.
All of which seems a fair way away from any visit to Boots. Yes, it is a stretch in literal terms, but read on and you will soon discover how easy it is to have one's spirit crushed by morons.
I didn't even get out of the car, yet by the end I was left feeling like I had not only been dragged through a hedge backwards, but by the larger of my testicles.
As both my regular readers will know I am ill. With this in mind Emma kindly offered to go into the chemist for me to pick up my monthly order of prescriptions. If I lived in Scotland where prescriptions are free, my monthly requirements might just make them think again about that particular policy. They'd be losing a fortune. The amount of shite I now need from the chemist every four weeks is staggering, and far too exhaustive to bore you with here.
But here's the thing. Every month we go and every month they tell us they cannot dispense the items without first changing the way my prescriptions are ordered by my local doctor. If we go with a prescription for all of the items we are told that they cannot be dispensed. If we arrive with a separate prescription for each item we are informed that they cannot be dispensed. And then they dispense them anyway, but not until you have spent half your evening pointing out to them that you have been told that you can't have them either way. I think it is a test of character. If it is, I'm failing it.
'Are you sure you pay for your prescriptions?' they ask when we have finally signed a legally binding treaty.
'Yes. I work'.
A blank look. The moron cogs are turning, trying to figure out exactly how and why someone who hasn't even got the decency to be able to walk would want to venture out to work for a living. It baffles them in the same way that their policy on prescription dispensing baffles me. I'm exactly the kind of fucking moron they have been fighting against all their lives.
So back to today. It takes fully 45 minutes, and a return trip to the car for yet more evidence of my usual order (they've lost the original prescription, so how the feck do they know what I want or how I should go about getting it?) before we can leave. By this point I am experiencing the kind of kidney pain that would stop Judy Finnegan drinking for a fortnight, but worse than that my spirit is crushed. The inability of the UK's largest and most famous pharmacy to differentiate between items that are needed every month and those that are not is quite something.
Without ruining the end of 'Burn After Reading' for those who haven't seen it, there is bloodshed before the end. I haven't been tempted yet, but if I return to Boots in a month's time and am asked once more to speak to my doctor about my prescriptions then I refuse to be held responsible for my actions. I am a moron after all.