Pharmacist

In a city full of unfriendly people, it's surprised me to discover that one of the least friendly is my local pharmacist. Besuited and obnoxious, smug and surly by turns, he regards the people that walk through his door as cows to be milked. If he can't drag you into a monetary transaction, he treats you with the same disdain as one might treat the soil found on one's shoes.

When I was first diagnosed, I visited the pharmacy to set up a repeat prescription service. If ever there were an ideal situation for a pharmacy in relation to a residence, this would be it - it lies just around the corner, five minutes' walk away, and directly opposite my doctor's surgery. This little convenience might only have meant one less thing to worry about, but in times like these you're thankful for every convenience you're given.

So there he was, in his too-crisp suit, with his ever-present glare and a badge bearing an oddly feminine name, giving me a lingering first impression that he might have been over-compensating for something. The surgery had already forwarded him details of my medication, so all we had to discuss was how often I would want each item and whether I paid for my prescriptions. My answer clearly disappointed him, and my wallet remained unopened.

Then he offered me a free diabetes test. Sure, why not? My family has a history of type 2 diabetes, so anything to keep it at bay before it has a chance to set in is always welcome. He handed me a form to fill in and asked if I needed help calculating my BMI. I said that I didn't; at this stage I was still playing Wii Fit Plus every day, and I knew that my BMI was within normal levels. He handed me a tape measure to take a waist measurement and headed back into the dispensary for a moment. With my usual lack of common sense, I measured not just around my waist, but around my sweaters and jacket too, thus adding a couple of inches to what is normally a very respectable waistline. My mistake.

The form completed, I handed it back and he looked it over. Scanning down to my waist measurement, I noticed his eyes light up. Alarm bells started to ring. When a disagreeable person gets a gleam in their eye, experience has taught me that the end result is most often an unpleasant mood for me.

He proceeded to try to sell me an entire range of weight-loss products.

I stared at him disbelievingly as he prattled on with his pitch, joyous at the prospect of making a sale and entirely oblivious to the offence he was causing. It's one thing to tell a woman that she's overweight, but what sort of self-respecting medical practitioner tries to convince a woman she's overweight when she's visibly and statistically not? Answer: a salesman. It dawned on me that I wasn't a patient to him; I was merely a punter.

I refused to be drawn, not bothering to disguise the steel in my voice. "I'll discuss it with my doctor before I commit to buying anything." The light in his eyes faded. "Am I at risk of developing diabetes, please?"

He mumbled "no", stood up and strode back into his dispensary, visibly disgusted by how impervious I was to his sales patter. Not for the last time, I left muttering curses under my breath. Whilst it is a sad fact that most marketing techniques rely on making women paranoid about their health and/or appearance, I can happily report that I have no such insecurities. Grimly I wondered whether he would have been so frustrated with his failure to impress had I been male.

*

Several months later, he made another attempt. After delivering my prescription, he ushered me into the interview room for a medication review, which I thought was a little presumptuous of him until I discovered it was standard practice. Choosing to ignore my "weight issues" this time, he zoned in on my other ailments.

"What are you taking codeine phosphate for?"

"I have an old knee injury that flares up in cold weather."

That light switched itself on again. "I see. We sell Tens machines for twelve pounds if you're looking for an alternative to painkillers. Now, your inhalers - do ever get a cold sensation on the back of your throat when you use them?"

"Very rarely," I replied icily.

"Hmm. A cold sensation means that your lungs might not be receiving the full dose when you're inhaling. You should consider using a breath-actuated spacer. They aren't available on prescription, I'm afraid."

"Not interested, sorry."

More peevish mumblings from him, more epithets through gritted teeth from me.

*

Pharmacists have different responsibilities from doctors, this is true. They have to run a business alongside fulfilling NHS prescriptions, and I have no problem with a little promotion here or a whispered recommendation there. But I'm living on benefits, and I haven't paid for a single prescription since Iosing my job last year. If my pharmacist had had anything resembling the bedside manner one expects from a medical professional, he would have realised that I am not in his target market. There are people in this city, increasingly fewer but still in abundance, who earn a wage, who can pay for prescriptions and who can afford to consider alternatives - lucky, lucky people leading normal lives and wielding disposable income, to whom he should be pitching. Marketing entities are, by definition, indiscriminate in their lack of social conscience, but a little common sense never hurt anyone.

Not to mention service with a smile. That's not too much to ask for, surely?