Setting: Walgreens prescription counter

I hand the technician my prescriptions and she laughs. Yup, she laughs. I ask what’s wrong.

Technician: “You’re going to have to give me a moment, I don’t know what any of these say.”

The magic is dead.

All my life I have believed this magic tale of technicians and overall medicine people having this special power to read a doctor’s handwriting. All my life I had trusted them to know what magic jelly beans I was putting into my mouth.

Lies.

What’s the point then? Why can’t doctors write clear? My theory for the secret code of the world of medicine is dead, obviously. So what’s the deal?

Thank goodness I’m not dying or anything (Although this morning when my ears and eyes were swollen I swore I was, you know, typical Thursday morning).

I would like to petition all med schools to update their curriculum with a new simple little course called: Calligraphy, the art of making letters understood by the magic jelly beans dispensers.

So yeah, here I sit at Walgreens. Waiting to be called and be given God knows what. I think I need a new nail polish… and some other five things that I surely don’t need but will purchase on my wait out.