Saturday, I went to pick up a prescription at a local pharmacy, which we'll call Schmalgreens. I've been picking up prescriptions at Schmalgreens for many years without incident—although, recently, I've had to twice phone my primary care physician's office to ask them to call Schmalgreens, because the pharmacy has said I don't have any refills on an ongoing prescription when I am supposed to have at least one refill left.

This is annoying. But whatever.

Anyway. So, I picked up my prescription via the drive-through pharmacy window, and the pharmacist on duty read me name of the drug with the right dosage, and I said, "Yep, thanks!" and checked the attached instructional sheet stapled to the outside of the scrip bag, which had the same correct name and dosage, and then I drove away.

When I went to take my meds last night before bed, however, the pill bottle inside had the wrong medication. It was my name on the label, but the meds were an anti-nausea drug, which has never been prescribed to me. Whoops.

So, this morning, after missing a day of my meds, I drove back to Schmalgreens and explained to the (different) pharmacist on duty that I'd been inadvertently given this anti-nausea medication instead of my prescription. Immediately, she was exasperated with me, clearly assuming that I was: 1. Confused; 2. Stupid; and 3. Wrong.

After being tacitly accused of being confused, stupid, and wrong, I gave the bottle of incorrect meds to her. She scrutinized the label. "This is dated August of this year. You can't have picked it up on Saturday."

"Well, I did," I replied, calmly. "I was told it was [X], and the outer label read [X], but when I got it home, it was this anti-nausea drug instead."

"You were prescribed this in August," she informed me.

"No, I've not been prescribed that drug," I replied, calmly.

"Well, then why does this label have an August date on it?" she snapped.

I paused, and breathed, and chuckled. "I have no idea," I said.

She turned away and disappeared for awhile. Another pharmacist, or assistant, joined her at a computer. They stared at it. They whispered. They looked at the computer screen and looked at the pill bottle. Finally, she returned.

"There's nothing we can do with this," she said to me, crossly, holding up the pill bottle with the wrong meds. "You need to take it."

"Okay," I said with a shrug.

She returned the pill bottle along with my correctly filled prescription. I opened the bag, to make sure I'd gotten the correct pills this time before I left. She gave me a look like I was trying to be an asshole. And that was that.

Now, this was a pretty dreadful customer service exchange, during which I received no apology for having to drive across town again for Schmalgreens' mistake and was spoken to from the get-go as though I couldn't possibly be telling the truth, but, you know, I get that people have bad days and I know that people try to pull shenanigans with prescriptions (even though my prescription has no value whatsoever to someone seeking to get high).

But I'm fairly disconcerted by my being asked to take with me a drug that I was not prescribed, and by Schmalgreens' comprehensive lack of concern that I was given the wrong prescription (in a mislabled package, no less) by one of their pharmacists. I was not asked what time I originally picked up my prescription so they could determine who made the mistake, or why.

I am relieved it was not the first time I was taking this drug, so I knew what it didn't look like. Schmalgreens, a place that boasts in its ads how their pharmacists will be vigilant about possible drug interactions for their patients, didn't seem too concerned.


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