Have you ever seen those television segments where they put a celebrity (or a bully, or a model, or whoever) in a fat costume so that they can experience the horror of unbridled public disdain? Well corny TV show producers, I take your embarrassing fat suit and raise one large prescription bag in a long line at the pharmacy. Because I know firsthand that humiliation, and oh, it is intense. Imagine this: you’re standing at CVS on your lunch break, when every single person and their elderly grandmother decide to go the pharmacy and drive reeeeeally slow to get there, so that by the time Gertrude backs out her Buick and you are actually able to park and get in the pharmacy line you have precisely T minus fifteen minutes to grab your prescription, pick up your Panera to go and get your butt back to the office. Of course the line is long, and when you finally get to the front and say your last name the lady can’t find your prescription. You know it’s there because CVS left three voicemails on your phone reminding you to pick it up. And that’s when it hits you: it’s in the special area. Because your prescription is in the dreaded “big bag”.
If you are unfamiliar with the big prescription bag, it’s basically a large brown paper grocery bag. Except it’s not for your milk and sugar, it’s for your prescription. It’s such a laughably large bag for what is normally such a small thing that the first time I got one I laughed at loud. And then hid it under my jacket and ran to my car.
There is always a point in the prescription pick-up process where I remember that I need to tell the pharmacist that it’s a big bag or else it’s going to take forever for her to find it, since they relegate the big bag prescriptions to a very special, under-the-counter location that allows EVERYONE to see that you are picking up an extremely. large. bag. of. drugs. Yet, even when I reach the point where I know I need to say it, I hesitate to tell the pharmacist that “it’s in a big bag” because as soon as I do, I feel a hot rush of judgment washing over me from the rest of the line. The people behind me start to get annoyed at whatever’s taking so long, seeing as they’re probably late for their Panera too. The pharmacist retrieves the bag and I quickly try to block it with my body or hold it down low so it’s not super noticeable. It’s all in vain. As soon as I turn around with the gigantic bag of prescription drugs, I get a rash of stink-eyes from the people in line behind me. Even the oldest of the old people—the ones that you just know have been around the pharmacy block a time or two—look at me like I have Ebola. I want to scream out, “JUST EYE DROPS! JUST PICKING UP MY EYE DROPS HERE!” but I think it would only make things worse. Plus, I can’t waste any time—my bacon turkey bravo is waiting.