No Filter 4/30/09

It’s that time of year again; where the undergrads on campus are beginning to bore their annoying ways under my epidermis and my seasonal allergies have caused my proboscis to continually drip like a leaky faucet.

I decided that perhaps it was time to refill my Rx since the only other way to stop the drippy nose syndrome was to shove Kleenex up my nostrils. Luckily, there is a Walgreens within hobbling distance of my office where I could acquire the precious serum needed to live a normal life during allergy season. And no, the Kleenex solution is NOT an option.

I picked up the tele and phoned in the Rx. Sweet. I was given the affirmative that it would indeed be ready in 15 short minutes. Coincidentally this would be the same amount of time it would take me to drag myself and my Darth Vader leg across the courtyard to the University Square druggist.

The pharmacy at this particular Walgreens is set up a little different than what I am used to. Instead of the cheaply lit fluorescents with one separate window for drop-off and one for pick-up, this space is brightly lit with what seems to be natural lighting and contains several alcoves that remind me of teller windows at a bank. The space behind the counter was vacant, not a soul to be found.

I stand four feet away from the counter, dead center of the many drug-dealing bays. I'm ready to pounce upon the first human that arrives to assist me; but wait, I turn to my right and notice that there is an approaching undergrad. Not a split second later a young woman appears out of the sea of pills behind the counter inquiring to us both, “May I help you?”

Immediately, time slows to a crawl, exactly like in those showdown or impending doom scenes from a movie.The undergrad takes half a step towards the counter and I turn to face her front on with the “what-the-fuck-are-you-doing-I-was-here-first” sneer plastered across my mug. In an instant the undergrad and I were no longer standing in the University Square Walgreens, we were transported to another place and time. I was expecting tumble weeds, dust and the Wild West showdown whistle to chime in at any second…

The undergrad opens her mouth and words spill out nauseatingly like the stench of rotten animal carcass from a garbage can. That uppity, Gen-Y, self-righteous, my-parents-are-footing-the-bill tone with the East-Coasty accent, “Were you waiting?” She wore an annoyed look as though she never had to want or wait for anything in her privileged life.

I decided that perhaps, in this instance, I will let the devil win out. The devil who perches upon my shoulder and whispers nasty, caddy, scathing remarks into my ear. The nasty, caddy, scathing remarks that I am forced to filter several times a day.

Instead of playing the Midwestern game of passive/aggressive behavior, i.e. I’ll say nothing and bitch about it later; I drew my guns, gave her the up and down and retorted in a dead-pan fashion, “No, they pay me $20 an hour to stand here and look pretty.”

I then started toward the counter, head held high in triumph, to take my rightful place in the two person line. But the devil wasn’t finished and the filter was still in the off position…A step and a half later, I turned my head and glanced back at the undergrad with the look of pure evil in my eyes. In a Gen-X, I’ve-been-working-for-the-man-since-before-you-were-born, sticky-sweet, stinging dagger reactive way I added, “Oh, I’m sorry, that was rather snarky of me now, wasn’t it???”

I hope she was able to smell my Jasmine and Lavender shampoo as I snapped my head back around; my long locks flying through the air barely missing the look of utter dismay on her nineteen year old face.

I paid for my drugs and hobbled back to work, coming to the conclusion that obviously it’s that time of year. The time of year where those of us who work year round on campus are anxious for the majority undergrads to leave for the four month summer hiatus. Yours truly is feeling the itch, and is also grateful that the drippy nose syndrome is on the wane.