Are Pharmacists Happy in the Grocery Store?

I have no problem with pharmacists, none. Of course I wonder about them from time to time, like everyone. Are they happy back there separating little pills with a knife? Do they resent that you just called in your prescription and you're already there? Do they ever suspect you're not who you say you are, picking up meds for someone? That's an issue all by itself. I've seen husbands picking up meds for their wives, and vice versa, and as a guy standing in line, I wonder, "How do you know they're not scamming you?"

I do think pharmacists by and large don't have it as good as they used to. Like back when they had their own stores, a place of their own, something to be proud of. Now they're in the grocery store, with people coming to them only because they're handy because you go there for groceries. Of course they still wear the funky shirt, as though that really means anything under the circumstances, but it's their tradition. Everyone needs those traditions to keep them at least slightly proud. But it can't be the same.

Actually, when I go to the pharmacy at the grocery store, I sometimes have them ringing up a few grocery items for me, and I wonder, Are they pissed off? After all, they went to school not to be a grocery checkout guy, but a pharmacist. They took classes, they ingested a whole range of medicines to know the effects first hand, they got a diploma and multiple certificates for any specialties. And now here they are ringing up my box of popsicles. Seems insulting, but it's two birds with one stone. And it's their fault. If you're in the grocery store, don't be surprised if you're stocking shelves later.

They do a pretty good job, though, and it is a lot more convenient than it used to be. Years ago we never called in a prescription refill. Plus you had to go in to get it. Now you might pull up to the drive-through window, etc. And ask extra favors, like, "Could you be a dear and run and get me a bag of macaroni and tomato sauce?" It makes them happy, I hope.

Here's what I'd like to be able to get, going by the old slogan, An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. "Give me an ounce of prevention, please." "Sorry, we can't unless your doctor phones in the script." And doctors, since they're carefully balancing the tension between needing you sick enough to come in but well enough to be moderately happy, don't want anything to be quite that easy. "OK, how about a pound of cure?" They might sell you a pound of cure, since they'd be making a lot more money with a pound than with an ounce of prevention. But no, you also can't get a pound of cure. Again, the doctor wouldn't want you to have it, nor would the pharmacist really. A whole pound of cure would be all you'd need for five years.

But good for whatever ails you, that's what I want! With the closest thing being something like Ibuprofen or Alleve. We used to get Red Dope, which is what we called it, and we put it on everything, cuts, scrapes, bruises, toast, pizza... You put it on -- say you're a kid -- and everything's immediately better. And also, along with Red Dope, we had Castor Oil. Grandma was big into Castor Oil as a cure all. I don't know if it was really that great, but it tasted very potent.

Right now I'm only "on" one prescribed med. How about that for age 62? In addition to it -- cholesterol med -- I also take a baby aspirin every night ... for whatever ... veins not to clog up, I think. So I'm doing pretty well. I know a few people who have one of those trays with slots for everyday, and they're jam-packed full of things, morning, noon, and night. Somehow I've avoided that, so far.

I'm glad I'm not a pharmacist, not just for the various indignities they have to face, but for all the sick people they're helping everyday. But by now most of them have built up a pretty good immune system, so maybe pharmacists live forever.

Get Your T-Day Turkey by Drone

After all these years of lagging behind -- check any key index -- my town has something to finally be proud of, something to put us on the map. I'm hoping this will spur greater tourism, as folks will come from near and far to see where it happened. Certainly it'll be a boost to our reputation, as we'll be able to claim the title, "Home of the First Drone-Delivered Turkey."

Those are the larger issues, but the main thing is how attractive this is for the local consumer, not having to go to the grocery store and stand in long lines, your temperature rising, the feeling, cramped in as you are, that you're going to explode and massacre everyone. We're looking forward to getting rid of that. Because it's Thanksgiving, folks! A sacred holiday, a day for family, friends, and food, not erupting in bloodshed at the local supermarket.

And finally there's something to celebrate in the field of technology. This is technology that actually enhances life and doesn't detract from it. I used the think the computer and all our other gadgets would be a blessing. Instead, crime against children is up, brutality against women is ever-present, banks are being robbed faster than they can build them, there's shoplifting, arson, and bullying. What's the one thing all those have in common? The perps more often than not have used a computer at some time in the last 15 years.

Plus, this is something I can actually get excited about. I'm like everyone else, as above: I hate the inconvenience of grocery stores. You find a parking space (good luck), you go in, the antibacterial towels for wiping the cart are usually out, then you're jam-packed with other people with the same basic goal in life, hunting and gathering food. You get to the checkout and there's always someone ahead of you. Usually with a squalling kid, nose running. It's almost enough to make you go berserk. Thank God most stores are now open-carry.

Anyway, technology to the rescue! Little drone planes promising the fullest measure of convenience for getting your turkey, greater than anyone could've imagined. That's the way I like it. No fuss, no muss. Just go out, get in line, wait your turn, etc. Then some time, be it an hour, or maybe a few hours, the mighty drone plane will come in with Turkey on Board for you! They'll take your souvenir picture, you load it in the car, and you're off.

Being new, though, with everyone wanting one, there will be a little competition to get your turkey. But don't worry, it'll be fun! When you get to the airport, stop by the main booth and get your bidding number. Then make your way to the runway. No crowding please, there's room for everyone. Pretty soon, the store will have loaded the drone and sent it flying, and it will come into view with a beautiful frozen turkey. Hands will go up fast, of course, because everyone wants one. But wait! With supply and demand, the only fair way is to auction it off. No one should complain. Why do you think you needed the bidding number if you weren't expecting to bid? The auctioneer will start every sale at 49 cents a pound, and depending on how many haven't yet got theirs, it might go for 89 cents a pound, or you could wait till the crowd thins out and get it at the minimum. It's all good. The store will keep sending them while buyers are still present.

Once you've got your turkey -- and checked out the drone, very cool -- the only thing left is to buzz by the store and get everything else you're going to need, dressing, beets, yams, pies, and don't forget you'll probably need a big aluminum pan.

That's what happening this year, exciting enough. But for the future, the sky's the limit! I'm looking forward to the day when someone makes the attempt, the first transatlantic delivery of a turkey by drone to France, with throngs of excited Thanksgiving revelers waiting on the scene.

Helping the Disadvantaged Make Their Own Granola

I've been looking into the whole matter of helping the disadvantaged make their own granola. And here's what I found:

Granola is a delicious snack often eaten by the health-conscious, made by assembling together a number of healthy ingredients. These include, but are not limited to, oatmeal, sesame seeds, sunflower seeds, wheat germ or bran, powdered milk, raisins, almonds, canola oil, and honey. Then it's a feast, when everything is just so, prepared according to the specs.

I've actually probably been eating granola all wrong most of my life, since I've mostly had the granola bars or some other prepackaged store-bought granola-like treat. How much better it would probably be if you made it from scratch, according to a recipe by someone who already knows how to make it. I'm definitely hoping to try it. You can find many recipes for granola online, or you can search various granola recipe books for good recipes for granola.

I probably should say, I've never really been on the granola bandwagon, such as it is. Why exactly that is, I have no other excuse than the simple fact that I'm lazy and not in the habit of trying different things. I like to say, even though the fallacy is easily demonstrated, that I never eat anything for the first time. I'm in a groove -- some call it a rut -- and once there, I have stayed.

But a big heaping bowlful of granola sounds pretty darned good right about now. There aren't that many treats in the house. A few cookies. A little ice cream. The same old same old. Nothing like granola. But you know what? Even though I've found all these killer recipes for the stuff, that would mean going to the grocery store and probably spending $30 to make it. Or a little less. So at this point, I'm just going to suffer without.

Today's bottom line is simple: Granola is good and good for you. But if you haven't got the stuff to make it, and don't feel like going to the store, you're out of luck.

My Moments of Doubt

As we all know, life takes a lot of faith. You think there's rhyme and reason and purpose, and not that things are just random, haphazard, and lacking in meaning. It always nice to find a place of security like that, which has been the happy story of my life. It's good to dwell secure like this, like an infant, satisfied and content, never knowing anything else. I'm in bliss right now, even as we speak. See my eyes rolled back in my head? I'm dwelling on several planes at once, all blissful.

But once in a while, even I have to confess, I have my doubts. I shake myself, go for long walks, hit the reset button, the escape button, anything to get back on track. And it works, it really does work, as opposed, say, to the ESC button on your computer that never does anything. Then I'm happy again, and without these doubts, my eyes go back to their normal place, rolled back.

My life can serve as an example for you, and it can also serve as a cautionary tale, that you never have doubts.

One of the things that I doubt is that the Congress of the United States has the best interests of their country at heart. I see the gridlock, the sniping, the endless procedural wrangling, the posturing, the needless opposition to every apparently reasonable plan, and that's just the Republicans. Then they pass bills that don't make the slightest sense, and I just have to say, "I have my doubts! If this is your idea of the 'best interests' of our country, then you're cracked!" These doubts shake me.

One of the biggest doubts of my life, seriously, just happened a couple weeks ago. I was out with a friend, and having a pleasant time over coffee. It was so pleasant, I didn't think anything in all of God's creation could ruin it. Had cockroaches marched in spitting on the table, I'd still be content. It was comfortable. Then my friend told me something unbelievable, that pork and beans was on sale at the store for a nickel a can. I was like, "What?! That's impossible! You're cracked! I have my doubts about that!"

Try as we might, we could never get back to the pleasant time we'd been sharing. It was on my mind: I know pork and beans is always 69 to 99 cents a can, $4.99 at a convenience store, it can't be a nickel a can, it just can't be! But my friend was sitting there straight faced. I took a hasty sip of coffee and burnt my lip, then descended back into this pitiful reverie: At a nickel a can, I could stock up for the apocalypse, and still have money for ammo. But I'll get to the store and there'll be a line around the building. I told myself, It just can't be, no sir, I'm calling BS on this, I HAVE MY DOUBTS!"

Just then the waiter comes to our table, and my friend says, "That guy looks familiar," going on to suggest that he works as a waiter at another restaurant while simultaneously being not just a waiter here, the newest restaurant in town, but the owner. Now I'm wondering about my friend. No one would do that, would they? Own a restaurant, be a waiter there, and be a part-time waiter in a different restaurant?

I fleshed it out in my mind -- with the pork and beans occasionally crowding out the waiter story -- and came to the conclusion, Yes, it could happen. Think of it: He might be waiting at the other restaurant to get enough money to pay rent on this place, since it is a new restaurant. Still, wouldn't that really dissipate his energy, energy he could be putting into this restaurant to make it a success? That kind of splitting his time might just make this place fail faster. Bottom line: I have my doubts!

I'll spare you my other doubts, because I doubt you're all that interested.

From Milk Bottles to Hawaii

I'm totally surprised I didn't think of this before. Even I could save money with this system! With the added bonus that I would get back more than I put in, interest, a dividend!

I want to get this written as fast as possible, since I'm already dreaming of the possibilities. Then I'll have another glass of milk and get my bags packed. I'm just wondering, When you get to Hawaii, do they literally have a lei for everyone who gets off the plane?

OK, I'm looking at my milk bottles, and, let's see, 8 x $2.75 deposit = Over 20 bucks! And a couple of these I got when the deposit was $2.50, so I've already made 50 cents interest. If I keep drinking milk, and never take my old bottles back, and the deposit goes up to, say, 3 or 4 dollars, that's a lot of interest. I could probably drink a bottle a day -- a half gallon -- it's that good. In a week, with the current $2.75 deposit, that'll be $19.25 saved, and I've never seen the deposit go down. The stock market, yes.

This is so great I need to clear off shelves in the garage. It's glass gold! Finally, a collection with a payoff. With the old records I sold, the guy talked me so far down I was paying him to take them. But when you get to the store with a milk bottle, it's always the going rate. They never look at you funny.

If I keep going at this rate -- thank God for calculators and human intelligence -- a bottle of milk a day for a year, I'm saving over 1,000 bucks! OK, for three years, that's close to 1,100 bottles. If I put $2.75 in each one, and the deposit suddenly spikes to $3.25, not out of the realm of possibility, that's around $550 more. I couldn't get that at the bank. In fact, the bank's like the record guy: I'm paying them to use my money.

Oh boy, as long as the storage space holds out, and I have other collectibles I can throw out to make room -- including Grandma's old Dionne Quintuplets crap that no one remembers. There's some memorabilia that took a nosedive! She should've collected plates and knick knacks from the Titanic -- the market's unsinkable.

There could be, however, one rub, maybe two. First, there's the store. They're definitely OK with bringing in one or two bottles. Or a few more. But what are they going to do if I show up with over a thousand? I can picture the look on their face: confusion, anger. Suddenly there's a conference of managers over by the wall, out of earshot. One of them has a dirty apron. He's wiping his hands and shaking his head, glaring at me.

I'm standing there. The line stretches to the meat counter and a mile out the back door. Me, with compassion for the suffering, I'm sweating. It took me two hours to lug the bottles into the store. I've arranged every available cart into one long wagon train. The clanking glass sounds like a plague of heavy metal locusts. 

Finally, the guy with the apron -- who seems to be waving in some backup -- tells me the basic problem. I erupt in anger and end up in prison. As they're gassing up the gas chamber, I get one last meal, and one last glass of milk, unfortunately 2%, not whole.

The other potential problem is with the dairy itself. Little dairies that put out this milk with the fancy deposits aren't prepared for anomalies like 1,000 bottles from one customer. They're so small, something like three bottles is too much, but of course they can't complain. Having a 1,000 bottle spike might actually shut them down.

And then there's the interest. Their bottom line is so tight, they'd have to lay off a dozen people and forty cows to pay it. Factor in, too, because the 1,000 bottles were missing from their return cycle, they had to buy 1,000 new ones. That took money. And now they have no room for the added returns, blah blah blah...

To which I say, with full understanding of how I screwed up everyone's precious system: "Cry me a river! Oh, boo hoo. The poor employees are going to all die, aren't I a horrible person? You have to lay off cows? Let 'em work on the pig farm! They could use the change of scenery! And pigs like milk, probably. Let 'em nuzzle up against Bossie. Maybe she won't be so bossy when she finally has to give up the security of her own little barn, and all the fancy milk spigots. I say, 'Go ahead, lay 'em off, give them a gold bucket for retirement!'"

And to the store -- OK, I'm pissed; I want to go to Hawaii -- I say, "This is one hell of a way to treat a paying customer! My family's shopped here for generations. You weren't complaining when we carried you through the Depression. We could've been lined up at the courthouse, getting handouts like everyone else. But Grandpa hunted, and sold furs on the black market, giving us enough money to buy your damned groceries! Oh yes, how soon we forget! That's when milk became my family's favorite drink, because when everyone else's bones were crumbling and the streets were full of decaying skeletons, my family's bones were fortified with calcium. It was my family, then, that had the energy to clear away the dead and disinfected the whole stinking place. If it hadn't been for us, all this town would be good for is tumbleweeds, and probably most of those would be crummy."

Bottom line: Full speed ahead, I'm packing for Hawaii! I'm going for it! A half gallon today, another tomorrow, this is how I'm saving money from now on. And if they don't like it, well, I'll be ready.