I went to the pharmacy in the grocery store tonight to pick up some cold medicine for my man, who told me to get something with pseudoephedrine, cos “that’s the good stuff”.

You have to ask at the counter nowadays for that so I did, begging for, “anything with pseudoephedrine in it”, like a junkie.

Before he parted with it, the pharmacist asked me for a copy of my driver’s licence, made me print and sign my name and write my address, then made me pay for it there and then, rather than at the grocery counter.

As I pulled my drivers’ licence out of it’s little pouch in my wallet, it sprung free and skittered across the desk, pinging the pharmacist on the hand.

“Oh!” I laughed, surprised. “Sorry about that.”

He laughed and made a little joke of his own.

It was on the tip of my tongue to shoot back,

“Yeah, sorry, I’m a little jittery from all the amphetemines we’ve been making…”

I think he would have seen the funny side, but you never know, and I’m not a citizen. So I bit my bottom lip hard, and walked away chortling.


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