You're Welcome

I picked up a prescription at the drugstore today. The pharmacist technician rang it up and tossed it in a bag with my two bottles of nail polish: bright red and sparkles for my toes ~ summer's going to come again; I'm almost sure of it!

A few hours later, I dumped the contents of the bag on my kitchen counter and wondered idly about the second little paper pharmacy bag inside. Had they divided my prescription in two for some reason? I picked it up and discovered that they had given me someone else's in addition to my own.

At that point I realized that I was in possession of some rather personal information about someone whose last name follows mine alphabetially. Her full name, for instance, along with her address, phone number, and the fact that she takes antidepressants. I was also, in fact, in possession of a bottle of Lexapro. What might one do with a windfall of SSRIs?

I thought the pharmacy might be in something of a compromised position. If I were the real designatee of said meds, I would not want someone else reading up on my private life via a drugstore bag.

So sometime later, as I left town, I took my newfound little treasure back from whence it came. I thought the pharmacy tech might be a tad relieved ~ even grateful. I had not, you know, dropped the meds off for their real owner, which might have been more convenient for me, and I did not suggest that the tech and her colleagues might be more careful in the future. I just said that she had given me an rx by mistake, and waited for her to say thanks.

Instead, she narowed her eyes and looked at me accusingly. "We wondered where these had gone!" she said.

OK, then, I guess you're welcome. Next time I plan a drugstore heist, I'll be more circumspect. I won't, for instance, return the booty.