Work in the Pharmacy

 

  Oh the things you can fill

  For the folks who are ill.

  With your bright shiny spatula

  Oh, what a thrill.

 

  Besmocked and bedecked out

  In Pharmacist clothes

  Knowing all of the things

  That a Pharmacist knows.

 

  You're quick and efficient,

  You're sharp and inventive.

  It also just happens

  You're anal retentive.

 

  You read slips of paper

  To get the specifics

  From doctors who scribble out

  Strange hieroglyphics.

 

  Could it be Celebrex?

  Or maybe Celexa

  It might be a Z-Pack

  Then it might be Zyprexa

 

  And you bill by computer

  AWP

  Minus 15 percent

  Plus a buck twenty-three.

 

  You fill and you bill

  And you feel so dejected

  'Cause half of your claims

  Are being rejected.

 

  So you pick up the phone

  While computerized voices

  Keep you waiting forever

  Explaining the choices.

 

  Press 1 for directions.

  Or maybe it's 2.

  Push 'pound' for a message

  Oh, what should you do.

 

  Then you pour out the pills

  On your pill counting tray

  And you count, and you count

  And you count pills all day.

 

  You count them by fives

  To the rhythm and beat

  Of the songs that you learned

  On Sesame Street

 

  And the customers gripe

  And complain while you're fillin'

  Could it be the whole world

  Is on 'Grouchacillin?'

 

  My pills are too big

  And my co-pay's too high!

  Take it four times a day?

  I cannot comply!

 

  Then you scarf down your

  sandwich

  In one single bite

  Which if done in a restaurant

  Would be impolite

 

  But a Doc's on line one

  Mrs. Jones on line two

  She has 500 pills

  Will you cut them in two?

 

  And the drug reps, they tap

  On your counter, tap, tap.

  To give you their spiel

  Plus a load of free stuff!

 

  There's pens and there's post-its

  There's free stuff galore

  But the really cool clock's

  For the doc who's next door

 

  Then ol' Mrs. Snifflemore

  Gives you that smile

  And you know once again

  That it's almost worthwhile

 

  So you hang up your smock

  And put down your free pen.

  Tomorrow you'll do it

  All over again.

 

  Oh the things you will fill

  For the folks who are ill.

  With your bright shiny spatula

  Oh, what a thrill!

 

  The End