My deltoid muscle pulsed, a beacon of pain that blipped hot and red. I searched my medicine cabinet. I was out of painkillers and any kind of balm to rub on my muscles. Exasperated, my head flopped backwards and I stared at the ceiling. What to do?
Home School Pharmacist: My Wife's New Career? #robertglover #comedy Click To TweetWhen I exited the bathroom, my wife looked up from her book. “What’s the matter?”
“My shoulder’s bothering me again.”
“I’ve got something for that.” She reached into the top drawer of her end table and rummaged among row after row of white-capped bottles.
The Medicine Drawer
“Got enough pills?” I asked. I was always amazed at how many bottles she kept on tap, ready to pour out a medicinal libation when necessary. Pill after pill she had collected and saved for a rainy day, but never past expiration. Unlike me (Expiration Dates), my wife was a stickler for expiration dates. With every new ailment, she replenished her supplies.
She lifted one up and peered at the label. “Here you go.”
I took it from her outstretched hand. “What is it?”
“Ibuprofen.” Standard treatment. “I was expecting something more exotic.”
“Well… I do have-“
“Never mind.” I cut her off. I preferred no medicine to the exotic. “This is fine. Thanks.” A few pills later with my shoulder’s throb reduced to a dull ache, I settled back in my recliner, unaware that my wife was conjuring a new career path.
Princess Pill Popper
I was perusing the card aisle in the local Walgreen’s, searching for the perfect birthday card for my niece when I heard a familiar voice. It sounded like my wife, but this person was giving out medical advice on what to take and when. I shrugged it off. It couldn’t be. I picked up another card. It wouldn’t be. My curiosity overcame me. I turned the corner and peered down the aisle.
“Thanks so much for your help. All these over-the-counter medicines are so confusing. I never know which one to take.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help. And if you have any questions,” she proffered a business card in her outstretched hand, “just let me know.”
“Thank you.”
I waited for the young woman to leave. “What are you doing?”
“It’s my new business.” She handed me a card. On it was written her occupation.
“Princess Pill Popper? Home school pharmacist?” I cocked my head. “Catchy, but can’t you get into trouble for that?”
“No.” She exaggerated the word and dismissed me with a flick of her wrist. “What pharmacist knows more about medicine than I do?”
“I’m going to guess all of them.”
“Don’t be silly. Don’t I always know what to take?”
“For cold and flu, or malaria?”
“Hydroxychloroquine, silly. Besides, nobody gets malaria in Kentucky.”
“Don’t you need a license?”
“I’m self-licensed.”
I nodded. Who was I to step on her dreams? At the edge of the aisle, an elderly woman sneezed. Lana looked over her shoulder. “Gitta’ go. I have a customer. See you at home.”
“Call me from the precinct,” I said.
She dismissed me with a laugh and skipped down the aisle.
Home School Pharmacist: The Startup
When I walked into the kitchen the next day, I carried a plastic shopping bag and a smile. “I’ve decided to support you in your new endeavor.”
“You have?” My wife looked up from her magazine.
“Yes.” I set the bag down on the table. “I even brought you some supplies.”
She sat up straight and smiled. “Yay!”
I reached into the bag and set down the items one by one: a mortar and pestle, tongs, beakers, test tubes, vials, vinyl gloves, and sanitizing hand wipes. At each item, she looked more and more perplexed. I had purchased most of the items I thought a pharmacist would need. I stared at the pile. “Okay, I give up. What am I missing?”
“What is all this stuff?”
“I’m sorry. Did you say farmer yesterday? I thought you had said pharmacist.”
“I did, but what is all this?” She moved a few items gently, as though they were contaminated. “There’s not a pill here.”
“Don’t pharmacists make their own pills?”
“Some do. I’m only prescribing them, dear.” She looked at me as though I had mistaken a turnip for an artichoke.
“Don’t doctors do that?” I asked.
“I’m creating a whole new field of study.”
“How will you know what to prescribe? Are you going to examine people?”
“Ew, no.” She puckered her lips, sucking in sour air.
“So you just consult people on medicine choices?”
“Home school pharmacist,” she said as thought it explained itself. “Who knows more about pills than I do?”
“I don’t know. An actual pharmacist maybe?”
“Take away their fancy college degree and they don’t know any more than I do.”
“Okay, I was just trying to help.”
“Thank you, but you can take all this-“ She swiped a circle in the air. “-back.”
Home School Pharmacy Stand
On a hot summer day, it makes me happy to see entrepreneurial children outside running a lemonade stand charging a dollar a cup. It comforts me and gives me confidence that our free market will continue and that enterprising children will one day start the next great American business.
On the other hand, seeing my wife seated at a makeshift “Home School Pharmacy” stand asking for donations for a consultation makes me wonder if America is about to collapse, especially when I see a line of women waiting their turn. I pulled over and waited my turn.
“I’d like a glass of lemonade, please.”
“Funny.”
“Seriously, where’d you get this stand?”
“I borrowed it from our neighbor’s kids.”
“Those kids gouged me on a popsicle last summer.”
“Tell it to the Better Business Bureau.” She waited, tapping her nails on the wooden plank. “So do you have a question for the home school pharmacist?”
A voice from the line yelled, “Let’s keep the line moving.” I looked over my shoulder. A queue of neighborhood moms stretched out behind me.
“You heard them,” she said.
“All right. See you at home.”
The Home School Pharmacist Retires
She didn’t come home until half past six that evening, looking exhausted, the ends of the mouth tilted downward like a bird’s wings.
“So how did it go today?” I asked.
“So so.”
“Really? Looks like you were busy.”
“I was, but I didn’t make much.” She toyed with a pile of crumpled ones and fives and random change on the table.
“Hard to believe people aren’t willing to shell out for home school pharmacists.”
“I know. Right?”
“Dreams die hard,” I said. “Maybe it’s for the best.”
“I suppose, but this wasn’t really my dream.” She brightened. “I really want to be a professional DJ.”
I kept my mouth shut.
On to a New Career
Who says you can’t change careers? From home school pharmacist to professional DJ in a day: why not? It’s much safer, and legal, to dispense songs instead of pills. Anyone else planning a change of careers? Or by any chance selling a four channel mixer and a pair of 1600 Watt speakers?
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