Observations from another trip to the drug store

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Today I was at the pharmacy, an exercise that, thanks to my useless health insurance provider, just gets worse and worse every time I go. Thanks to that bunch of morality-challenged undercutting underwriters, going to the pharmacy actually causes me pain, rather than the normal outcome. But enough about me.

While waiting for the latest surprises from my insurance company (dba The Sucking Vortex of Expensive Premiums That Cover Absolutely Nothing Heath Insurance Uncooperative Cooperative And Fine Print Museum), I noted some of the helpful section signs hung about from the pharmacy’s ceiling – you know: Food, Photos, Toys, Vitamins, Scar Removal, Cards, Transmission Repair, exual-Say oys-Tay, Beauty, Guns & Knives.

Something was bugging me, something nagged at me, something was not normal. It took me a minute, but then it hit me. None of the signage was duplicated in Spanish. How could that be? I thought bi-lingual signage was a law or something, like not removing mattress tags under threat of prosecution, or the “10 items or less” aisle at the grocery, or watching “American Idol.”

Don’t our Hispanic neighbors get sick? Don’t they ever need over-priced, embarrassingly lame birthday & anniversary cards? Wouldn’t they occasionally enjoy the therapeutic comforts derived from purchasing a $399 Shiatsu Massage Chair, too? Have they no need to buy cheap Christmas ornaments in February? Do they not have scars?

Maybe they’re better served by the pharmacy that is right next door, or the one just across the street, or the one on the other corner, or the one next to that one, or one of the 23 more between here and the next traffic light. But I’m sure Congress will be tackling the issue, rooting round for truffles and snorting sound bites, as soon as they finish debating Alexander Hamilton’s original intent regarding how to properly seed the NCAA’s Bowl Championship Series.

But shortly my eye was drawn back to one of the ceiling’s section signs. Printed under the word “Beauty” was this promise: 100% Money Back Guarantee.
Guarantee? Wonder what that covers?

Clerk: Hi! Welcome to Severely Medicated World!
Customer: Why you smilin’ like that?
Clerk: I’m sorry!
Customer: Look here, now. My wife, Squirrelene, done bought this here beauty product, and we rubbed her up right good, but she’s still mighty ugly.
Clerk: I’m sorry!
Customer: You’re sorry? With her alongside me in the front parlor, I can’t even consecrate on watchin’ no “America’s Idol.”
Clerk: Here’s your refund! And here’s a free coupon for 25% off your next purchase of a useless beauty product!
Customer: Stop smiling at me all the time like that.
Clerk: I can’t!

In a related story … at the pharmacy, one can purchase, if one can stand the sidelong glances from the other customers in the checkout line, one’s very own Lice Comb.

I do hate a poorly-coiffed parasite. Don’t you?