CVS: Central Vexing Service

Fifteen years ago, my pharmacist was a kindly old gentleman with white hair and glasses. His name was Frank, and he and his wife ran (quite literally) a mom-and-pop drug store a block away from my apartment. It was a small place, and there wasn't much to be found on the half-bare shelves-third-rate greeting cards, hair products, diapers and cotton balls. The occasional ointment.

But he was a pharmacist, not a card salesman, and when it came to filling prescriptions, no one could top him. I think the stuff on the shelves was mostly there for show, just something to fill the space between the front door and the prescription counter in back.

There was almost always a bit of a line, but no matter how busy it got, Frank was still, somehow, always able to fill any prescription within the hour. Part of this came from the fact that he knew his customers by name, knew their ailments, knew what drugs they needed and so kept them handy.

Even when the glittering new Rite Aid opened up directly across the street, he continued to thrive in his dingy little storefront. His customers, understandably, appreciated the personal touch and so continued to bring him their prescriptions.

All I needed to do to arrange for a refill (this is true) was call the store. Frank would answer, and I would say "hello." He recognized my voice, and unless I told him otherwise, knew what I wanted. He'd say, "See you in an hour." That was it. And it was always ready.

Then one day about seven years ago, I called for a refill.

It wasn't Frank who answered the phone, but I thought little of it. He was getting up there in years, and in recent months had been hiring young pharmacists to help him out. I told him who I was and that I needed a refill.

But an hour later when I turned the corner and made a reflexive grab for the shop's front door, I found that it was closed. Not just closed for lunch or the day, but gone closed. Without any warning.

This was not only very sad, it was also very, very confusing. What could have happened in the hour after my phone call? So I went back home and dialed the number again. And again someone who wasn't Frank answered the phone.

"Ummm?" I said, not wanting to sound too insane, "where am I calling?"

The man on the phone (who'd clearly been answering that question a lot) told me that Frank had finally retired, and that when he did, he sold off his customer records to the CVS five blocks away.

"Oh," I said. Then I told him what had just happened.

"Any calls to his old number are now automatically being forwarded here."

"Oh?I see," I said. "So?can I come and get my prescription?"

The new pharmacist looked it up on his computer, then told me that my prescription would be ready in a week or so, since they had to order it.

"A week, you say."

"Yes."

"Oh?okay."

I hung up the phone, wondering how thin I could ration out the pills I had left.

I should've known right then that things were going to be bad, that I should just transfer my prescription over to some other mom-and-pop pharmacy in the neighborhood. But there weren't any. My choice was now between one giant chain and another, so I saved myself the hassle and left it where it was, and got my pills a week later after a couple of jittery days.

Here's the deal with my prescription: It's essentially a brain coolant that controls my seizures. I take five pills a day, every day. I get 500 pills at a time, which means I need to get a refill roughly every three months. I've been taking these pills for close to 20 years now, and will need to take them for the rest of my life.

I explained this to Frank straight off the bat. He understood, made a mental note of it and always had the drugs handy. I explained it to CVS, and they did not understand, made no notes (mental or otherwise) and, over the past seven years, have not once had the pills in stock when I've called for a refill. I even give them several days' notice before I come in (despite their promises that it will be ready "this afternoon"), and still they don't have them in stock when I show up.

It used to take at least three visits and two phone calls before I actually received a refill. I cut that number down some this past year after being told once again that no, I'd have to come back in a few days.

"Why does this happen," I hissed through clenched teeth at the woman behind the counter, "every?FUCKING?time?"

Since then they've been pretty good about getting things filled within a week.

(I don't mean to whine and complain, but their commercials have really been cheesing me off lately.)

Anyway, a few weekends ago, my pill supply was dwindling, so I called for a refill. A few hours later, the pharmacy called me back to let me know that (surprise) they didn't have any Tegretol in stock, and wouldn't be getting any for another week. That was expected, and so no longer a problem.

Ten minutes after that call, the phone rang again, and again it was CVS. They made a mistake, they said. It wouldn't be ready in a week. More like 10 days. So if I could come in a week from Monday??

Yes, that was fine, too.

I even gave them an extra day, and didn't stop by until Tuesday. I walked blissfully into the store and back to the counter, assuming everything was going to be just fine and gave the young woman my name. She poked around a bit through the finished orders, then asked that most dreaded of pharmaceutical questions: "Ummm, when did you call this in?"

When they ask that, you know you're fucked.

"A week and a half ago," I said.

"Oh?well, we don't have any in stock right now. You should've called before you came in."

"I should've?? I talked to two people over a week ago, and assumed I could accept what they told me. Then I waited an extra day, just to be safe."

"We called you again this morning."

"At home, right? While I was at work?"

It went back and forth like that for a while.

I finally asked, "Well, when do you expect that you will get some in?"

She exhaled through her nose as if I'd just asked an impudent question.

"I'm not sure. Maybe tomorrow, but we can't make any promises."

"You can't make any promises? But you're a pharmacy."

I shook my head and left the store, walked home and commenced drinking. I only had a day's worth of pills left as a result of all this. Normally I try my damnedest to understand what the people on the other side of the counter are going through, and most of the time I think I can do that. But this was too much.

"What would they have done if it had been heart or diabetes medication?" Morgan asked later. "Tell you to come back in a week?"

I realize this is an old, old story that's repeated a thousand times every day around the country. Old-fashioned courtesy and personal service smashed out of the way by some cold, soulless and inefficient corporate train, be it a Wal-Mart, a Barnes & Noble or a CVS. Sure, I may romanticize those old days a touch-I was drunk most of the time-but I never had to go through this kind of shit to get some damn brain medicine. I do wonder sometimes if I'm part of the last generation that will even know that people like Frank really existed someplace other than in the movies.

The next day before leaving the office, I called the drug store. I gave the woman the name and number, and waited to hear if things were ready yet.

Two minutes later she was back on the phone. "That prescription was filled back on the twelfth," she said. "Why didn't you pick it up then?"