Post by Chips on May 21, 2008 9:25:01 GMT 9.5
An oral examination gets intimate
Jenny Greaves
May 21, 2008
HECKLER
MY palms are sweating. My heart is racing. No, I'm not at customs bringing in an oversized bottle of Chanel. I'm not at emergency about to have my fifth baby. I'm too old for that. I'm at the chemist. In the queue.
I'm here to buy some cold tablets. We've all got runny noses at home, nothing too serious. A pretty young thing starts with the interrogation.
"Driver's licence please."
The conversation doesn't proceed until I produce it. The queue and the stares get longer.
"Symptoms, Mrs Greaves?"
She knows my name now. The interrogation continues. No, I'm not pregnant or breast-feeding, not last time I checked anyway. I'm already imagining the conversation around the dinner table tonight.
"Hey guys, guess what someone asked me today - if I was pregnant or breastfeeding."
Responses from the girls: "Oh, that's gross. That's so not funny. Please - not while I'm eating."
No response from son. Husband doesn't hear the question.
"Allergies? Other medication, Mrs Greaves?"
More stares. Isn't there a room where we can go and discuss this? Customs has special rooms; I've seen it on TV. People in the queue don't need to know my medication.
For a second I consider lying, but I don't. Instead I whisper the name into her ear. I'm told to wait while she checks with the pharmacist. I wait patiently. My driver's licence is taken out the back. Why is this taking so long? Police check?
"Mrs Greaves?"
I'm expecting an elderly bearded pharmacist, experienced with middle-aged women on medication; the pharmacist looks just old enough to be on work experience.
"Moist or dry?"
What is he referring to? Oh, the cough. I can't even remember that I mentioned a cough. When you're getting six people out the door in the morning, moist or dry is not on your brain.
Moist, I think. He returns with tablets with my name plastered all over the box, including typed instructions, just in case I forget what to do with them.
I inadvertently raise this ridiculous drama to a new level when I ask to have an elixir because my youngest struggles to swallow tablets. Stares turn to gasps. Where's the CTV? I'm expecting to hear sirens and see security guards ready to escort me out of the shopping centre.
"Mrs Greaves, we are only permitted to dispense one cold medication per customer per day."
I tell him I'll be back tomorrow. He doesn't think this is funny. Neither do I.
Jenny Greaves
May 21, 2008
HECKLER
MY palms are sweating. My heart is racing. No, I'm not at customs bringing in an oversized bottle of Chanel. I'm not at emergency about to have my fifth baby. I'm too old for that. I'm at the chemist. In the queue.
I'm here to buy some cold tablets. We've all got runny noses at home, nothing too serious. A pretty young thing starts with the interrogation.
"Driver's licence please."
The conversation doesn't proceed until I produce it. The queue and the stares get longer.
"Symptoms, Mrs Greaves?"
She knows my name now. The interrogation continues. No, I'm not pregnant or breast-feeding, not last time I checked anyway. I'm already imagining the conversation around the dinner table tonight.
"Hey guys, guess what someone asked me today - if I was pregnant or breastfeeding."
Responses from the girls: "Oh, that's gross. That's so not funny. Please - not while I'm eating."
No response from son. Husband doesn't hear the question.
"Allergies? Other medication, Mrs Greaves?"
More stares. Isn't there a room where we can go and discuss this? Customs has special rooms; I've seen it on TV. People in the queue don't need to know my medication.
For a second I consider lying, but I don't. Instead I whisper the name into her ear. I'm told to wait while she checks with the pharmacist. I wait patiently. My driver's licence is taken out the back. Why is this taking so long? Police check?
"Mrs Greaves?"
I'm expecting an elderly bearded pharmacist, experienced with middle-aged women on medication; the pharmacist looks just old enough to be on work experience.
"Moist or dry?"
What is he referring to? Oh, the cough. I can't even remember that I mentioned a cough. When you're getting six people out the door in the morning, moist or dry is not on your brain.
Moist, I think. He returns with tablets with my name plastered all over the box, including typed instructions, just in case I forget what to do with them.
I inadvertently raise this ridiculous drama to a new level when I ask to have an elixir because my youngest struggles to swallow tablets. Stares turn to gasps. Where's the CTV? I'm expecting to hear sirens and see security guards ready to escort me out of the shopping centre.
"Mrs Greaves, we are only permitted to dispense one cold medication per customer per day."
I tell him I'll be back tomorrow. He doesn't think this is funny. Neither do I.