Saturday could have been a productive day if not for my over whelming desire
to slack. I did run to Target to refill a prescription at the pharmacy and
pick up a few things. I got to the pharmacy just before 1:30.
I fully expected them to tell me to pick up my order after 2, knowing their
lunch hour is from 1:30 - 2. (I called the pharmacy's VRU
beforehand.) This would have been okay with me since I had other shopping
to do. To my surprise the clerk, cashier, whatever he is, told me to stick
around and they would fill it now.

Then this shriveled up shrew bellies up to the counter and thrusts her scripts
to the clerk, cashier, whatever he is. He told her her order could be
picked up after 2. The crag starts throwing a fit. A pissy little
fit. Like the ones children throw when they are told something they don't
want to hear. She started bitching and moaning and spitting and
hands-on-hipping. The poor little clerk, cashier, whatever he is
reluctantly caves and decides to fill it now, before mine.

Now, keep in mind, the lunch hour is from 1:30 - 2, so if they don't leave at
1:30 they don't get their half hour. They have to be back at 2.

So, even though the little clerk, cashier, whatever he is is filling her
prescription, she still feels like bitching.

"It doesn't say when you close for lunch on the phone."

The clerk, cashier, whatever he is says "I think it does."

I chime in "It does."

"Well, where does it say here?", the bitty asks.

I point to the sign. The bottom line in smaller font says when the lunch
hour is. "Here."

"Oh...in the fine print."

I resist the urge to whack the bitch with my red plastic shopping basket and
instead opt to make faces behind her back to make the clerk, cashier, whatever
he is smile.

He should really wear a name tag.