Well, last night was the first night at my new job as a pharmacy tech. * ::sigh::*
Any monkey with fingers (or a stick) could work the cash register. It’s touch screen and literally walks you through everything (directions on the screen). Everything is scanned for the price, so there’s not even an actual punching in of numbers. (After the U-Scan at the grocery store, the pharmacy’s cash register was a breeze.) It took me a total of two minutes to learn to use it, and that includes what to do with checks (no ID required), credit cards, debit cards and cash and coupons. The most difficult thing is handling the money (which the screen, naturally, tells you exactly how much change to give) and counting out the dimes, pennies, etc.
The pharmacist, L., hates her job. Maybe “hates” is a too strong of a word. When I asked her how long she’d been working as a pharmacist, she rolled her eyes and said, “It feels like forever.” She’s roughly my age (late 30’s, almost 40). She has a near full mustache with matching beard, which is layered over her intense acne. She works in a pharmacy, but apparently is unable to see physician to get her intense facial hair treated (or her acne). Her people skills are horrible—she goes into great details that have NOTHING to do with the subject at hand and you can see the customer’s eyes glaze over through her spiels. For example, someone asked about a prescription and L. began a long and detailed story about how the medication was supposed to be ordered on Friday, but there was a floating pharmacist (without going into details about what a “floating pharmacist” is) who didn’t order it, and when she came in on Monday, she noticed that it was pushed off to the side with medication insert information, and she ordered it on Monday afternoon, but wasn’t sure how long it would take because the company who makes the medication, blah, blah, blah. So, the patient gets a long story (of little or no applicable information) instead of “we’ve ordered your medication. Please call us on Wednesday to see if it’s here.” She also is very into professional jargon (like the “floating pharmacists”) and uses it to explain almost everything. I politely, but persistently, stopped her several times when she launched into jargon to say, “Okay, what does that mean?” and made her break it down into laymen’s terms. She probably hates me, but ask me if I care. 
The pharmacy is very dirty (as in dusty, not complete filth). There’s a lot of clutter, or what appears to be clutter (I’ve not worked in a pharmacy before, so maybe that’s normal) and the working space (i.e. countertop) was disorganized. I lost track of the number of times L. coughed into her hand, and then worked with medication (pills). I was there four hours, and never witnessed her take a bathroom break or wash her hands or use a hand sanitizer. I was handling money, so my hands were filthy at the end of four hours.
I got a perky pharmacy smock. It’s brand new (straight out its plastic bag) and I took it home to wash the starch out of it with lots of fabric softener. It has pockets that will neatly fit my cell phone and keys so I don’t have to take my purse into the store. (There’s not a secure place to put a purse.)
With exception of one nasty customer (who probably will get hers in the end, if karma has anything to do with it), the customers were nice, patient and polite, and grateful that their medicine was waiting for them when they arrived. I liked being able to end the transaction with a smile and a “have a good evening”.
The job is a no-brainer. I don’t have to solve problems, fix things, create new inventions, evaluate processes or design new ways of doing things that are more effective (like I do in my day job). There’s no heavy lifting, no fast or consistent movements, and as long as it stays busy, the time passes by fairly fast. The only draw back is that I was on my feet for four hours straight. Although the floor is padded, my feet (and lower back) hurt after four hours. Not only did I learn how to work the cash register, but I also learned how to pull the soon-to-be expired medication from the shelves, count pills, refill the pill machine with bottles, work the drive-through and I could probably answer the phone if I had to (but I don’t want to—I don’t even want to answer the phone when it rings at home). I also learned how to look up medication on the computer, as well as people. I also learned that if a person comes into the pharmacy and orders one pill, that pill is most likely Viagra.
The girl that was training me (probably who, aside from L., will be my co-worker for the time I’m there) is a very nice junior at the High School. Her name is J. --I know this because not only did she introduce herself, but she has her name tattooed on her arm. (No, it’s not upside down so she can read it.) She’s friendly, patient (I think she’s getting a kick out of showing me the ropes), and actually works (as opposed to chatting on her cell phone with friends, or lazing in the backroom). She thinks she wants to be a pharmacist (something she’s thought about doing since she began working at the pharmacy eleven months ago), and I’m thinking that if L. has been her role model, J. needs to get out more often to see more of the world. After I mentioned that I had another job, she asked me about it, and I told her. I’m not sure if she didn’t believe me, or just didn’t understand, but she did have a “thought processing” look on her face.
At the end of the evening, L. asked me how I liked my first evening on the job. “It’s fine,” I said. “Fine?” she asked as if she was surprised that I didn’t spew that I hated it. I nodded and smiled a closed mouth smile. “It was fine,” I repeated. :rolleyes:
I go back on Friday evening. Most likely I’ll go back on Friday evening. At least for the next six months.
