To the Beautiful Pharmacy Tech Who Belittled Me Then Hit on My Husband
To the beautiful pharmacy tech that hit on my husband,
You don’t know me. I am only one of presumably thousands of your customers. You see us as people who are sick, who are unwell and you look at us with disdain. I saw that in your eyes tonight. What I also saw was more hurtful and destructive than you’ll ever know.
You see, I’m disabled. I have severe spinal problems that are exacerbated by my fibromyalgia. Today, I could barely walk. I wouldn’t actually even consider it walking. It was more like a very slow, very painful, inch-by-inch shuffle. It took me five minutes to walk 20 feet from my door to our gate. That’s four minutes more than it usually takes me on a good day. But, today was not a good day.
Today, I was barely able to put pants on so I could leave the house and go pick up the prescription from you. I didn’t eat much. There was no “comfortable position.” Sitting, standing, lying down, moving at all: pain. It wasn’t a low level, either. It was hovering just before tears. If I get to the point of tears after an all-day episode like this, that’s usually coupled with a complete inability to move my legs and it means it’s time for me to go to the ER. But, you don’t know any of this. You just work there.
When I got to the pharmacy counter, my husband had already grabbed what he needed and was waiting on me. I gave you my usual information and, in the middle of it, you touched your necklace and top button, gasped, and told my husband you “admire” his tattoo. He didn’t notice your flirting, but the way you pivoted slightly, looked him up and down and bit your lip were more than significant enough for me to notice. That wasn’t, unfortunately, the only thing that happened.
When you continued to speak to me, you first looked me over and scrunched up your nose. You then began to rapid-fire questions at me, not letting me finish each sentence before cutting me off. You began to wear a bitter smirk on your face while refusing to make eye contact with me, but continually looking at my blissfully unaware husband. As we were leaving, my husband asked me why I looked upset.
I informed him that, to me, it is beyond unprofessional when you have a person depending on your service in front of you and, instead of giving them your professionalism, you hit on their husband and then proceed to treat them like they mean nothing. He, of course, was surprised. He hadn’t even noticed. I explained what each thing that happened was and then told him I’m getting tired of it.
I’m getting tired of women like you who are beautiful and educated and “above it all” coming into my life in some way, looking me over in sheer judgment, lacking completely in compassion and empathy for anyone but yourself, flirting with my husband in front of me and then treating me with such disdain as though you cannot, for one second, fathom why such an amazing, handsome, intelligent man would be with someone the likes of me.
I’m getting tired of women like you, who act impulsively and with disregard for others, making me ask the same question.
I know the answer. I have since I met him. But, it isn’t any of your business. It isn’t any of your concern. I’m at the pharmacy to pick up medication that is actually going to help me in some way and I need you to do what you need to do. Giving me my prescription is your business. Your job is not to belittle me when I’m alone or when I’m with my husband. Your job is not to display a lack of professionalism by hitting on my husband before you belittle me. Your job is not to make me question my own value. I don’t know if you are even aware of what you’re doing.
There are so many who are so much more sick than I will ever be. I have witnessed how you treat me. It still leaves me asking one question.
How do you treat the people who are sicker than I am?
I hope you learn soon, miss, to stop doing this to the people counting on you. I really do.
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