Walgreens

I was just at Walgreens Pharmacy picking up a prescription for my daughter.  As I’m walking down one of the aisles heading to the back of the store I saw a lady taking something off of one of the shelves.  For some reason, the item that she was taking was under an enclosed plastic door.  She raised the little plastic door to retrieve her item and a small alarm sounded.  This alarm sounded, just as I was approaching the lady.  She looked at me in horror and I felt that I needed to say something.  My intent was to ease her worries.  Unfortunately, I don’t think that I accomplished my goal.  

I’m not sure why, but this came out:  “Yikes, that could be embarrassing!”  

“That could be embarrassing!”??  What was I thinking?  I actually said this to the mortified lady.  I continued walking and then turned to see what it was that the lady was taking and it happened to be diarrhea medication.  Was she embarrassed?  Probably.  Was I a moron?  Definitely.  Why was there an alarm on a laxative though?  Why would the store want an alarm to sound for this item?  As if the person wouldn’t be tentative enough purchasing diarrhea meds.  Why not just have the manager come over the intercom and introduce the lady as she reaches in for her desperately needed (and private) item?

“Attention customers...You’re not going to believe what this lady is buying in aisle 6!  Stand clear shoppers, stand clear!”

The moral of this story is:  “Sometimes, the last thing you need is for someone to be a jerk to you when you really just need to go to the bathroom.”

Unfortunately, this wasn’t my only experience of the day.  Thankfully, for the other customers though, my other experiences were all internal.  I must say that I was a bit surprised by some of the items that were on the shelves.  None of these “Surprising” items had alarms attached to them though.

Everyone knows that you can get most anything at these “one stop” shops.  Magazines, snacks, deodorant and makeup are mainstays.  Some of the additional items that are carried are a bit different than the mainstays and have caught me a bit off guard.

Did you know that you can get “At-home” drug tests at Walgreens?  Really.  They boldly proclaim on their packaging that it is 99.9% accurate at revealing Cocaine use.  Awesome.  Is this really such a problem that it needs to be stocked by Walgreens?  We’re not talking prescription or court ordered...it’s just there on the shelf next to the Windex.

“Billy, come to the dining room table...mom and I’ve got a test we want you to take.”

You can buy large “Surgical Dressing Pads” here too.  I’ve removed the occasional splinter or two, but I’ve never done something at home that needed surgical dressings.  These things look like they will take care of wounds related to your garden variety knife fight or bungee jumping accident.  Who needs to go to the Emergency Room when you can just pick up your own surgical dressing?  Maybe this is what “Universal Healthcare” means . . . Universally, you can get any thing you need for your health care at Walgreens.

“The next thing I knew, Carl’s arm was layin’ on the ground...good thing a Walgreens was nearby!  We really dodged a bullet by getting those surgical dressings so quickly!”

Ok, here is the biggie!  At Home DNA Paternity Tests!  What?!  I felt like I was on an episode of “Keeping Up With The Kardashians” or “Maury Povich”.  I can hear day time talk shows crying at the mass availability of such tests!  Talk about a time for an alarm!  Who’s your daddy?

I can just see someone trying to yank out a lock of their taxi driver’s hair.  “Sorry about that...I’ll keep you updated on the results though....Dad.”  Awkward.

Who knew that just a little trip to the store would reveal so much?  Evidently, I’m capable of naturally stepping on someone when they’re down and I can find out who my dad is, drug test him and repair a massive flesh wound all in one trip.

Thanks Walgreens, for being available for our society’s every freakish need.

That's Why It Was A Dollar!!

A friend told me this week that her stomach was hurting.  She said, “I’m not sure why, but maybe it has to do with the food I ate from the Dollar Tree.”

“Wait a minute...you ate food from the ‘Dollar Tree’...what kind of food?”, I asked. I though it had to be some type of candy or chips or something.  At this point, I didn’t even know that the Dollar Tree sold food!  But it wasn’t candy or chips...

“Chicken Nuggets...I had chicken nuggets from the ‘Dollar Tree’.”

I’m in total disbelief.  “Of course your stomach is hurting!  You’re not supposed to eat food from the Dollar Tree!”   I couldn’t bring myself to ask if they had been refrigerated or not.  I’m picturing them on the shelf with tablecloths, discount diapers and some sort of plastic tic tac toe board.  

I would honestly go hungry before I ate ‘food’ from the Dollar Tree.

I picture sitting on a curb and someone asking, “Whatcha eatin'?”  “Dollar Tree Chicken,” I respond.  Fear comes over them.  Panic fills their face.  A frantic 911 call is made, but in the end, my unconscious body is unaware of the help that finally arrives.  In this case, you can’t have your chicken and eat it too.

Another friend of mine told me this week that he had a breakfast sandwich from Starbucks and that it wasn’t that good.  He seemed a little surprised.  “In fact, he said, it was disgusting!”  

Really?  Food from Starbucks wasn’t up to par.  Seems odd, they’ve really placed all of their hope into their food bringing you in to the store.

I tried to explain this to my friends this week and maybe you’ll see where I’m coming from.  This is my general rule of thumb:  You can’t eat at a place where food is not their “main thing” and then be surprised when it turns out to be disgusting.  It’s possible that a “non food store” could have a good food item or two, but it’s very unlikely.  They can’t possibly be good at selling greeting cards and scrambling eggs.

I can’t really go fill up my car with gas and then be surprised when the hot dog, that I purchased from its heated rolling rack, has me praying for the sweet relief of death within 2 hours.  It’s a GAS Station...pun intended.  Why would I think that their food was a “good idea?” Actually, I should be surprised if it didn't cause me some sort of pain!

Should I go into Walgreens and get excited about the sale on Shrimp?  Never gonna happen.

Would I buy steak from the back of my postal carrier’s van?  A milkshake from my cable company?

We never experience this phenomenon in reverse.  I’ve never heard someone telling me about getting windows installed in their house by Burger King.  No one goes to marriage counseling by Subway.

Bottom Line is this...  

1.  Only eat food from grocery stores or from actual restaurants.  

2.  Don’t fill up on food from places that you can fill up your car or from places without refrigeration equipment.

Here’s to your next meal...choose wisely my friend.

Jon

"Fun Size" Candy Bars

Halloween is just around the corner and they are starting to appear.   This is an old post, but I just had to drag it back out as this season approaches.  Well, here goes...I hope you enjoy.

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I recently had a "fun size" snickers bar.  You know what I'm talking about - its a candy bar that's not quite ripe.  Its a small version of the real thing.

I'm a bit intrigued by the title given these mini bars.

I don't yet understand why they would be called "fun size".  In reality, they are not even "adequate size" candy bars.  You almost always need 2 or 3 even to be adequate.  Why "fun"?

The candy maker certainly wouldn't want to call them "small size" because then the fear would be that we'd think the bars were too expensive given their "small size".  I suppose the candy maker couldn't just ignore the size altogether and not give them a name...that would just be weird.  "Why are these bars so small?", we'd ask.  The name at least gives us an indication that something purposeful is being done.  But what?

Which brings us back to . . . "Fun size".  Why "fun"?  What about a tiny, 3/16 of a candy bar is fun?  

Is it because I can fit it into my pocket and enjoy it on the go?  No.  I'm too forgetful.  What isn't "fun" are the mounting bills from my Dry Cleaner.  Chocolate can be stubborn.

Is it fun because it contains less calories than a regular size candy bar?  No.  Nothing about reduced calories is "fun".  "Fun" doesn't count calories.  Maybe they could be called "Less Fun Size".  I think that would paint a picture.

What would be fun would be a gigantic 3lb candy bar.  That's fun.

Or how about a free candy bar . . . of any size?  That's fun too.

Maybe we could just call them Halloween Candy Bars.  You know, its the size of bar that you don't mind handing out to strangers at your front door once a year.  Its not like your giving away actual candy bars.  It's "fun".

Perhaps we could call them Easter Candy Bars.  The size of bar you don't mind losing in a field.  Its the size of bar that could actually be lost in a field.  Maybe they are easier for the Easter Bunny to carry??

You see my dilemma.

In the end . . . I still can't see why it is so "fun', but . . . I'm making a research commitment today.  I'm gonna keep eating them and with every bite, I'll seek to understand just what makes them so "fun".

What?  

Can't I disagree with the verbiage and still recognize its tasty goodness?  Did you expect me to stand on some sort of moral high ground over a little name dispute and NOT eat the candy?  Come On!  

Small or Large . . . "Fun" or Tiny . . . its still a candy bar.  No matter what you call it.

I'll just call it good.

JJ

Leftovers

Tonight was similar to most any other night at our house.  I had dinner with my wife and daughter and afterwards, my wife and I were cleaning up in the kitchen.  I had already enjoyed a great dinner and was thankful for our meal together.

My daughter hadn’t quite eaten all of her food so I took it upon myself to “help her” clean her plate.  It would be a shame to let all of that food go to waste.  So, I didn’t let it go to waste...I ate it.  

Now I was full, but happy to do my part to help the family.  And then it happened...

As my wife was trying to put the chili into a storage container she realized that it wouldn’t fit.  She turned and looked at me as if to say, “Our family needs you!”  She didn’t actually say this, but I got the message - loud and clear!  It’s go time!

Danger was lurking about in our kitchen in the form of a small storage container and a large pot of chili.  “Not on my watch, small storage container.  You’ve met your match!”

So, I sprang into action...for the family.  I proceeded to eat about another bowl and a half of chili.  Was I hungry?  No.  Had I planned to eat until I was near blackout stage?  No.  But, did my family need me?  Yes, yes they did.  I don’t consider myself a hero, though that word has been thrown around at times.  I just do what needs to be done.  I guess you could say that I just love my family.  Of that I am guilty and I’m also a little nauseous at this point.  

I basically just ate about 6 meals in the span of 20 minutes, but I did it for love.  Unfortunately, I’ve realized that I do this quite often.  There is the last bit of pancakes for breakfast that can’t be tossed.  The last of the banana at snack time.  It’s the remains of the peanut butter and jelly sandwich and it’s the “seconds” that weren’t even touched.  My daughter needs me.  I’m not sure what the fear is regarding throwing a bit of food away - or why we can’t just get larger storage containers?  Nevertheless, there is a job that needs to be done.

I don’t normally count calories, but I’ve done some quick calculations and it seems that I’m way over what medical personnel would recommend.  I should be getting about 2,200 calories each day and on my own plate, I’m doin’ alright (about 1,800 calories).  When I count how much food I put away for the family, it comes to about 7,300 calories per day.  That's not good...at all.  If I were a hero, I'd have to worry about my Lycra suit still fitting.


If I keep this pace up, I’ll have my own show on TLC by the Spring.

Here’s to cleaning your own plate...and being a hero!

JJ

Charlie Chuckle

Here was the scene.  It was your typical public laundromat.  Dirty floor.  Rows of Washers and rows of dryers.  Several people milling about.  Folding.  Washing.  Lounging.  

We picked our machines and put our roll of quarters in each one to begin.  I think it was something like twelve dollars for a wash.  I’m remembering how easy it was to do laundry at home...when our washer actually worked.  Mindy thought it would be fun for Maggie to experience the laundromat.  So this is why we all 3 went.  I don’t know that whole families generally go to the laundry together, but we sure did.  The family who launders together stays together.

There were 4 arcade games, but only 2 were operational.  Both were “unnamed” games that have never been heard of.  My daughter immediately spotted these, so we played.  She had fun, but I wanted my money back.  The television was on.  It was the “Ellen Show”.  She was talking about having had some near death experience.  I was thinking that we might have a death experience of our own today.  It might have been the worst television ever viewed in public.  If it were a device intended to reflect every light hanging from the ceiling so as to mask what was actually on the screen...it would have been the best such device in history.  As a television however, not so much.

A lady was behind the counter to offer a “Wash and Fold” option.  She looked like she had been washed and folded herself.  I’m not sure what that even means, but we pass on that option.

There was a guy who was busy with his own laundry while we were there.  Normal enough except for one thing.  Every few minutes, he would let out a chuckle.  I’ll call him Charlie Chuckle.  The first time I heard it, I rationalized it as a cough.  The second time I heard it, I knew it was a laugh.  I looked for ear buds thinking that maybe he was listening to some type of podcast.  No ear buds.  I hadn’t heard him talking, but the next chuckle had me looking for a blue tooth.  Nope.  It was becoming clear that Charlie Chuckle wasn’t actually interacting with anyone “on the outside.”  Whoever he was conversing with was inside his head.  So that was cool.  At least he was laughing at himself and not upsetting himself.  That could’ve been odd.

Back to our laundry.  Our games were finished and the television was unwatchable and finally it was time to get our laundry out of the wash.  Washer 1, no problem.  Washer 2...major problem.  As we began to pull the clothes out, we noticed it.  It was unbelievable.  By “it”, I mean Cat hair!!  Oh my goodness, you wouldn’t believe it!  There seemed to be more cat hair than clothes.  If there is a cat equivalent to Cruela De ville...she uses this laundry mat.  I’m allergic to cats, but this is really beside the point.  This is pretty disgusting.  If PETA had come in at this point, we would have had some major explaining to do.  It was a cat crime scene and we’d just become part of the cover-up.

Obviously, we have to rewash our clothes...in a different washer.  I wipe down our old washer to get rid of our prints.  I’d hate to see some kind of Cat CSI team come in and get busted for a crime I didn’t commit.  I make a quick run to the bank to take out a personal loan.  Thankfully I’m approved and come back with twelve more dollars for the additional load.  

More time is wasted.  More TV.  More chuckles.

Finally, our wash was complete and we loaded up and left.  That’s when it hit me.  Of course!  Why had I not put this together sooner?

What’s the moral of this story?  

Sometimes, when a guy laughs every couple of minutes, it’s because he knows who used your washing machine before you did.   

Well played Charlie Chuckle, well played.

Hope you have a day that makes you laugh.

JJ