The Walmart Pharmacy technician called me "trash" and refused to fill my prescription.
Before I tell you the story, you should probably know why I am not used to being called that name. For years, I was middle class and looked it; between my clear skin, straight (white) "magazine" teeth, my put-together professional appearance, my "clean, accent-less" telemarketer voice, and educated verbiage, I am usually called "yuppie b-" or "snob." No one could tell looking at me that I had a drop in economics, because I still have the same clothes, same jewelry, same makeup and, thanks to friends chipping in for a day of beauty/relaxation, the same expensive haircut. I think I was even wearing pearls that day.
However, I had gotten sick (invisible disability) and ended up on the Ontario Drug Benefit that comes with social assistance. When my pharmacy closed, I went to Walmart in search of a new one. I knew that, because they served the projects and the other disabled in my building, they had lots of experience with ODB.
I brought my prescription up to the male pharmacy technician. He started with the normal questions of where do I ordinarily fill my prescriptions and address. He asked for my insurance and I handed over my monthly ODB card. He handed my my papers (card and prescription) back.
"We don't serve your kind here," he tells me.
"Kind? Migraine sufferers?" I naïvely question, from inexperience and thinking the only thing he knows about me was my prescription.
"Trash. Now get out of my store."
I turn to my mother, and asked her if she heard that, telling her that I actually need it repeated back to me, because I think I'm in shock. She heard the whole thing. We walk away to other aisles for a bit, for my emotion to calm down.
My mother and I separate in the pharmacy section on my return, since I don't need Mommy to stand up for myself (usually). I asked for the manager and the clerk points out that she is giving the District Manager a tour, so I should watch them and approach when she is done. When I see them separate, I approach her.
"Excuse me, but your clerk pointed you out as the pharmacy manager. Have I found the right person?" I ask.
"Yes," she replies. Of course, this discourse has attracted the woman I am told was the District Manager back into the fold. The District Manager is silent throughout this exchange.
"You need to know that your male pharmacy technician just called me 'trash' and refused to serve me," I inform her.
"No, he didn't," she tells me.
"Wait, I'm confused, did you just deny my experience?"
Of course, my mother had been just steps away, looking at vitamins. At this point, she picks up her purse, leaves her cart and walks over to interject into the conversation.
"Excuse me miss, but I was there," my mother explains. "All she did was walk up smiling to the counter, tell him she needed a prescription filled and he just told her she was trash and to leave. Aghast, she did. There was no prelude, no fight, no warning."
"That's a very good point," I add. "There was no lead-up, no precipitation."
"You are being ridiculous," she tells me (and I let that go). "He's filling your prescription now. It's probably ready."
"Did he now? So you are telling me," I say as I first pull out my prescription "that he is currently working on dispensing drugs without authorization?" And I then pull out my ODB card/paper, which everyone in the conversation knows has to be surrendered to the pharmacy to get your prescriptions, "and he is doing so without the paper you need to get compensated?"
It is at this point that the manager reaches out to snatch my paperwork from me. I don't let go and I hit her hands away.
"No, these are my confidential medical and economic information. If you aren't filling my prescription- and I think we all know you aren't- you have no right to these. I came her to give you the opportunity to make it right, but instead you called me a liar [she implied, I got that wrong only on a technicality]. Me and my eight prescriptions a month are going somewhere I am treated like a person."
I turned around and walked off. My mother stayed for a beat, before I heard her say:
"Well, I guess your staff can restock my cart, because I won't be buying anything either. I think that's the least you can do."
When she caught up to me, she was laughing. She said it was good that I didn't look back, but it meant I missed seeing the manager and district manager both looking like their heads were about to explode.
I don't know the end of their story. They wouldn't have a record of who I am and wouldn't be able to call me. I hope the district manager blew a gasket, but I have no idea. All I know is that the next pharmacy I went to were pleased to have me as a customer. read more