Over-the-Counter Intuitive

We have a pretty good pharmacy in our 24-hour supermarket. We’ve used it ever since we moved into our home eight years ago.

The personnel might change from time to time, but on the most part we have good service. We can call in refills by phone most of the time through their automated system. There usually isn’t a long line and, when there is, it moves quite quickly. And we’ve gotten to know the employees quite well. Like Lisa, who is very cool and who has helped to get adhesive eye-patches for Av which are rare to stock.

And then there’s Ned. (No. It’s not his real name. But if it were, the ressemblence to Ned Ryerson in Groundhog Day would simply be uncanny. Ned has always struck us as slightly off, but he’s always been helpful and friendly enough. And even that’s not the most important factor: Ned does his job adequately and quickly enough.

This past Friday I had an interesting interaction with Ned.

It was Friday afternoon. K had called in two prescriptions that morning, and the recorded message advised that they would be ready by 11:00 am. Since I was picking them up at 6:00 pm, it gave a pretty sizable window in case things were running behind.  I didn’t have to wait more than two minutes in line before Ned waved me over to his register.

I mentioned that I was picking up.  He aksed me for the last name; I told it to him and spelled it out. He went over to the “T” drawer* and rummaged around a bit, looking for these two prescriptions that had been called in. He kept looking — but couldn’t find the two bags.

He then looked on the shelf above — to see if maybe the medication hadn’t yet been bagged and shelved — Nada.

He then asked the spelling of the last name again — which I provided to him.  I told him what types of medication were requested when he asked me. I even called K up to confirm that she had called the refills in earlier that morning.

Ned was getting flustered. It seemed pretty apparent as one of the pharamcists from her perch behind the wall behind the counter — about four steps up — looked up from her work. My eyes met hers and I smiled, not being able to do much else. She was nice from our few previous experiences. She wore a headscarf and dressed modestly — not an uncommon sight in our neighborhood.

She decided to help. As she descended the stairs, she asked Ned if he had tried looking under my wife’s first name, as the prescription might have been mis-categorized. He looked with no success. Then she offered to look herself. About forty seconds later she found them — in the “T” section. Where Ned had been looking this entire time.

The whole ordeal took slightly less than five minutes. I was happy that I could get this done and over with and could pay and get out of there.  Ned was apologetic, but I smiled and said that the important thing was that we found the prescriptions and all was right with the world.

Ned, however, was dissatisfied.

“Yeah,” he said, “but I should have been able to find them without you having to wait all this time! I should have found them…”

“Hey — you’ve found countless prescriptions for us over the past few years. These things happen. Don’t worry about it.” I tried to calm him down so I could pay and get out of there.

Ned had different plans.

“Yeah, well — you know how when you play a sport or something? Like baseball? And it’s okay when you lose if you’re playing against someone better than you. But when you play against someone who isn’t so good? You beat yourself up over it.”

I smiled and tried to change the subject by providing commentary to my debit card shwooooping through the card reader. He decided to provide some commentary of his own by leaning into me a bit, as if to secure a more familiar relationship. After all — he theoretically knows about all of those hypothetical remedies I may or may not had prescribed to me. Maybe he thought of me as someone in whom he could confide?

“I mean — it’s okay if I don’t find it right away. But she found it. She did. I mean, shit. She found it.” This didn’t sound pretty. He had an axe to grind with headscarved lady. Was it because she wore a headscarf? Because she was a woman?  Because she got to stand four steps above him every day?  I didn’t know. All I could gather was that Ned did not like that this woman could find a prescription that he could not. In the “T” section where it was supposed to be.

I’m totally okay with him liking or not liking whom he chooses. But it’s rather unprofessional to discuss this with a customer. Even if you know what kind of inner thigh salve he may or may not use.  The pharmacy — even the supermarket as a whole — should have a united, professional front of customer-facing representatives whose job it is to help the customer and work as a team doing so.

I didn’t want to give him a lesson on work and customer service ethics, so I forced a smile once again and came back with something like “Well, the important thing is that I have the medicine now.”  While he was waiting for my electronic transaction to go through, he decided to go further into detail with his dsiappointment in himself.

“I’m so mad at myself. I get so mad sometimes…”

I wondered quietly to myself if I should try to analyze him. I had, after all, caught up with most of the current season of In Treatment…

“… One time I took my stapler, and… and banged it against the counter I was so mad. I even broke the stapler!” He seemed proud of the destructive force of the anger.

I was proud of the fact that my receipt was printing and I would be out of there in a matter of seconds.

He stapled the receipt to the bag and I thanked him with a grin.  And escaped quickly into frozen foods while I processed this a bit in my own head.

Look — Ned is a good guy. Works hard day in and day out. I certainly don’t want to get the guy fired or anything. But what he said to me, a customer, was unquestionably inappropriate.  He expressed a dislike for one of his co-workers who had been able to succeed where he hadn’t. He expressed feelings of rage to me (although towards himself). He mentioned an inappropriate channeling of his anger to a customer.

I don’t know Ned’s schedule. But I’m thinking it might be a good idea to talk to the pharmacy supervisor and report my observations about the interaction I had with Ned on Friday. Again, I don’t want there to be repercussions here.  I just want to make sure that the manager is aware that the work environment may be affected by similar statements to that which Ned spoke to me. Besides — I’d feel it more catastrophic if he enters in the same banter as a customer who might not be as understanding as I and with whom the interaction might become more volatile.

So I’m going to have a chat with that manager over the phone. Preferably tomorrow.

What do you all think? Am I going about this the right way? Any suggestons?

______

* As many of you may be aware, “Shiny’s Takeout” is just a pseudonym to which I’ve clutched in order to shield my audience from my true last name which is often spelled and pronnounced incorrectly due to the ethnicity of such a surname. But yes — it is, indeed, Taekoweiczotski.  It’s a bitch to spell when you’re waiting for medication — and sometimes that wait is reason for that medication in the first place.