Now we come to the good part – I mean the part that seems like a Seinfeld episode.  Part 1, almost two weeks ago, when Ezi got his prescription for paxlovid, I asked that it be sent to the CVS near us, even though the place looked suspicious to me, nothing like the CVS I used to know. 

I came up to the counter, passed the paper to the pharmacist and waited as he examined it, then sent me over to the head pharmacist.  The head pharmacist examined the paper carefully and said to me – “come back one hour.”  I came back an hour and a quarter later, and the pharmacist told me it wasn’t ready, to come back in an hour.  “But he promised me one hour,” I pleaded, knowing there was a chance I’d come back and the pharmacy would be closed.  He went over to the head pharmacist, who without looking at me, said “ten minutes.” 

I spent the 10 minutes nudging the guy with the keys to the shampoos all locked up on the shelf, took one, returned it, took another – enjoying his opening up the glass door, locking it, opening it open again, as a little revenge on the head pharmacist.

Didn’t think I’d have to go back there, but when I did, with my own prescription, the guy with the shelf keys saw me and moved to another part of the shop.  Anyway, I was headed for the back where the pharmacy is, so he had nothing to fear.  I gave in my prescription and was sent again to the head pharmacist, who peered at the paper and said, “tomorrow morning.”

The next morning I waited until he had plenty of time to get organized, but when I went there, the pharmacist said it was “on hold.”  The doctor, she said, must have changed her mind.  Since I couldn’t reach the emergency room, despite many efforts, and the pills were time-sensitive, Ezi and I took a taxi over to NY Presbyterian.  When I told them the problem in Emergency they sent me to the waiting room.  But after half an hour I had had enough.  I grabbed one of the tiny doctors and she immediately said, “follow me,” and stopping in the middle of a long hall, slipped into a room.  I waited in the hall, thinking that any minute a note would appear that said “drink me”- it seemed so much like Alice in Wonderland.  But then the doctor emerged and disappeared down the hall like the white rabbit.  But no, a woman resembling a caterpillar came out after her. “Oh, I’ve been looking all over for you,” she said.  “I’ve called and called.” She showed me a slip of paper with a number remotely resembling mine – but with all the numbers confused. “The pharmacy couldn’t identify your insurance and wanted to know if you would pay.” Of course I’d pay – I’d get it back from the insurance, and if not, the fear of a stroke mid-flight urged me to swallow whatever they told me. 

We walked back cross-town to the pharmacy and back to the head pharmacist.  “Yes, I have spoken to your doctor.  Will you pay?” …”Come back one hour.”

After an hour the line was long, but I was persistent, and when I was told the prescription wasn’t ready, went looking for the guy with the keys.  But someone back there took pity on me, and within fifteen minutes I was out of there.  With an expensive shampoo. 

Then I took the pill. 

It feels wrong.

I think they made a mistake.

I think I want to go home.