Diary of a Neighborhood Pharmacist, Entry #3

A friend of mine who was, as you'll guess, director of a corporate training program, had a sign on his wall: "Every organization has a training program – whether it has one or not." That's so. [This pharmacy chain] was so anxious to have the night shift covered in this store that they threw me in, on my own, with three days of training on the wrong shift.

That's enough for me to get by with when I'm working with somebody who knows the system, or even to work alone when there's only one straggler wandering in at 3am. I'm fine from midnight, when the last tech leaves, until about 5:45, since there are no patients coming in anyway. There's a period set aside for computer maintenance, when there's nothing to do but read, or wander outside and look at the 24-hour convenience store and 24-hour laundromat across the road, and feel a minor degree of kinship in shared boredom.

But at 6am, all hell breaks loose.

The first patient comes in and, looking around, seeing nobody else, I promise to have his prescription ready in 15 minutes. I'm about halfway through when the phone rings, and then somebody comes in to pick up a prescription left the day before. There are lines at pick-up and drop-off, and the loudspeaker is announcing, "one pharmacy call, two doctor calls," reporting on the incoming telephone calls that have to be answered.

Everybody is in a hurry, and I haven't yet developed the valuable skill of ignoring the phone – or, for that matter, dealing with the elderly gentleman whose insurance company refused to pay for his medication. I'm a mess, and I feel as if I'm letting everybody down, because I'm just not fast enough, not proficient enough, and can't meet expectations.

Maybe that's because the expectations are too damn high – that the company has promised what it can't really deliver: fast, efficient service. It has a lot invested in automation, and not nearly enough in training.

The people in line walk out, and I can't say that I blame them. I rush to the phones, working on intake. Even there, rushing leads to mistakes. I get the patient's name, without thinking to get the address or date of birth, assuming that it will all be recorded on the computer. Only then do I discover that there are three Anna Colangelos*, and I have no idea which one I've just recorded a prescription for.

At 8am, the day shift arrives. That's when I'm told that there's a house rule: Any prescriptions that I've taken in remain my responsibility, and I can't leave until they're done.

I've just learned one of the more important things that wasn't mentioned in training: It's okay to slow down. And: Ignore the phone, don't take that call. Let them call back later, when it's somebody else's problem. These may be the first practical lessons I've learned.

*not her real name

See the previous installment, Diary of a Neighborhood Pharmacist, Entry #2, or the next installment, Diary of a Neighborhood Pharmacist, Entry #4.

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