Humiliation at the Local Pharmacy
Ever get your hand caught in the razor case at your local CVS pharmacy?
Well. You're just not livin'.
In order to keep my journalistic integrity intact, I need to disclose that it was more than just my hand that got stuck in the razor display case at CVS. It was my hand and halfway up my arm that was stuck in the razor case.
Naturally, it wasn't my fault. It is the fault of those razor locker thingies at CVS. They are totally defective and completely useless. I pushed the button and the machine did not dispense my razor blades.
I pushed the button again.
I pushed a third time, with a little more force so the machine would know that I mean business.
I had to take matters into my own hands. I reached up inside the machine to grab the blades and got my hand stuck. Through a series of fairly complex moves, I managed to get my hand and half of my arm stuck in the case.
Seriously, who locks up disposable razor blades anyway? Afraid the meth heads will go bat crap crazy and cut someone with a five pack of Schick Hydro replacement blades if they don't get their Sudafed or Coricidin HB?
Hmm. Maybe that isn't so far fetched.
The worst part of getting my hand stuck in the razor jail was that I somehow managed to trigger the alarm to summon store personnel. Imagine hearing a quiet beep followed by 'Customer needs assistance in aisle 8 at the razor display case. Repeat: Customer needs assistance in aisle 8 at the razor display case.' over the loudspeaker.
As if it weren't embarrassing enough to be stuck in a machine, the CVS SWAT team had now been deployed.
And her name was Glenda. She was at least a thousand years old.
Glenda was sympathetic to my plight because she, too, had gotten her hand stuck in the razor case on her first day on the job. According to Glenda, filling the razor case has it's hazards and getting an appendage stuck is one of them.
On a certain level, as Glenda worked the key and the plastic guard thingie simultaneously, we became friends. We chatted and exchanged pleasantries. She liked my purple purse. I liked her big brooch.
Few things class up a CVS smock like a big brooch.
After at least seven minutes, Glenda finally sprung my arm from razor jail. Then she offered me an ice pack, a couple of band aids, and more sympathy. After all, getting a hand stuck in that case could happen to anyone. Even her.
As she was walking away, Glenda looked over her shoulder and gave me these parting words: Keep ice on that arm. And it could happen to anyone, but you take the cake. Most people only get their hand stuck and they stop messing with the case. You got most of your arm in there, too. Honey, that's real commitment, but next time? Just push the button and the razor blades will drop right out the bottom of the display case like a vending machine drops a Snickers.
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