I'm a little slow today. I just switched to Sanka. So...have a heart?

Monday, June 11, 2007

Hot, untouchable pharmacists.

There's a curious phenomenon happening at the CVS on Alton and 14th.

Most all of their male pharmacists (at least the two that I've dealt with) are sort of hot in that older-guy, I've-been-around-the-block-honey-and-I've-done-it-all sort of way. They've got tight tan bodies, and asses you could bounce a quarter off of. Or eat lunch off of. Whichever.

And they're all sassy and fun. (Today mine recommended that I avoid Claritin D 24 after we mutually agreed that $120.00 for Allegra is "too much to pay for that shi...stuff," because it has a lot of pseudoephedrine in it and it's "like taking a lot of Coke for 24 hours.") And they're still hot even if they are a little on the queeny side. (I don't go so much for the nelly types, in case you were wondering, and shopping for the perfect guy for me while I'm on the "chafing dish" setting with "the Boy.")

Attractive? Funny? Witty? Hello! Over here, Daddy! I'm the one with the Mercedes, the winning smile, the killer view and more mortgages than you can shake (do I go for the dirty joke...? No? Ok.) a stick at!

Which would make the dubious pastime of trying to cruise a pharmacist (while he dispenses your phlegm-loosening drugs, and your I-Have-Bacteria-Growing-Inside-My-Nasal-Cavities antibiotics) somewhat appealing, and could almost overcome the shame that comes with wheezing up to the Pharmacy counter with a clammy paw out for prescription expectorants... except that I'm pretty sure they all have "Bodies By HIV Medication."

Which is a pity. Because nothing's more of a bonerkiller than the prospect of possibly dying a long and painful death and pre-death societal ostracization, for a night of intense (protected) passion with your local pillslinger.

Also, I don't think I could ever date a pharmacist. (That I patronized.) Or a doctor. Because I feel like I'd always be under their prescription and medical-knowledge microscope. Instead of the adorably compact (former bundle of energy and sunshine) embittered sloth that I've become, and that people will grow to love (you will all love and adore the jaded alter-kucker crankypants feisty-old-man I am now) out of necessity (Because otherwise I'll make your lives hell.) all I'll be is a collection of moles and pores and sweat glands and broken-unset noses, and scraped-elbow scars and hair follicles and whatever other various ailments and imperfections I've accumulated over my brief-but-eventful 26 and 3/4s years on this Earth.

So, I'll forego my pipedream of unfettered after-hours love (and pill scrounging) in the 24-hour-CVS on Alton Road, in search of a more wholesome and not-24-hours kind of love...

Next time I march into a store with four prescriptions in my hand... it'll be the Jetsons Publix. Because Publix is a family-type store, and I'm sure all their gay Pharmacists are negative. And Because I know that store closes, sometimes, so there's more of a possibility of a roll in the hay, with the possibility of a Supermarket-Sweep bonanza through the Valium jars afterwards!

2 Comments:

Blogger Rootietoot said...

gay pharmacists. Will wonders never cease! How can you tell they're gay? Maybe they're just fit and live in Miami...

I went to church with mine- a husband/wife tag team. They were wonderful people, but it made me nervous, so we moved to a new town 400 miles away.

12:47 PM

 
Blogger latinbombshell said...

My alter-kucker! Cook me a brisket!

Wow, you are lucky! The pharmacist up on 41st street has a bushy beard and wears a yarmulkah.

9:44 AM

 

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