Just about every day now at work I get a call from an Indian woman who says she is calling from "the pharmacy" and wants to know if I'd like to refill my Fioricet prescription.  This is amusing because, although I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of - and even more that I shouldn't be proud of, but am - ordering Fioricet from "the pharmacy" isn't one of them.  In fact, I actually had to look it up to find out what it was.  Apparently, this nameless, faceless Indian woman thinks I'm in pain - lots and lots of pain.

It reminds me of when I was in high school, my friend Ryan and I were both paid stage hands for a community play starring all the retarded adults in the community.  I know that sounds like a punch line - and it is - but that doesn't make it any less true - and it is. 

Next time I see you, just remind me and I'll act out the show for you - it's almost, but unfortunately not entirely, the exact opposite of Cher's one-woman production of West Side Story, if you're familiar with that theatrical "work." (And if you're not, let me know and I'll show you that sometime, too.) 

The script was pretty simple, because the cast couldn't remember their lines very well, due to their being retarded.  The play involved what was rather generously called "a talent show" that was going to be put on at "the school."   The lines always referred to the school as "the school" rather than giving it a name, such as Washington Junior High, or whatever.  It makes me think there is a town somewhere out there, called "the town," and "the students" all attend "the school" and then go pick up their meds at "the pharmacy."   And then they put on a talent show.

So anyway, this chick is very persistant, but it just instantly sounds incredibly fishy to say you're calling from "the pharmacy" and neglecting to give a name, don't you think?

That is all.

*Update - I looked up Fioricet and I think maybe I did order some of those once, many many years ago, but they were essentially just the same as Tylenol, maybe with a pinch of codeine in it, but nothing too exiciting.  What's the fun in that?  If I want to pay some Indian woman an outrageous sum for pills, she'd better be sending me some Marinol.  I had one of those once, via a friend of a friend, before watching Kill Bill Vol.1 in the movie theater, and let me tell you, it was full-tilt boogie even before "The Bride" came out of her coma.