It all comes down to one thing

Name that movie

In my case, it is three things. This is what I purchased at the drugstore today.
With the exception of the Tylenol, I had to ask where the mineral oil and jumbo sized pill dispensers were located.

The mineral oil is for Sam’s ears--swear to God. He had his CDL physical last week His ears are plugged up with wax and he’s supposed to put this in for a few days and they’re going to try to flush it out later this week. (At least I think so--after his appointment, he told me that he was supposed to put mineral spirits in his ear. Ummm, are you sure they didn't say mineral oil?)

*Pauses for moment cringe at usage of “flush”* Sorry, it really is for his ears. Did I say that already?

The new pill container is to accommodate a Prilosec dosage increase related to bad news from Sam’s EGD on Friday. Next stop, Mayo Clinic. The Tylenol is for shoulder and hip pain. (Appointment with orthopedic PA to coincide with fasting blood work for cholesterol)

I deposit my purchases on the counter and wait for someone to check me out.

“So, did you find everything you need today?” the clerk asked cheerfully.

I looked at my purchases and replied, “Can you give me a moment?”

I should have bought a candy bar or at least a trashy magazine—but realized that would not have helped the situation.

She works in a drug store, get over yourself. “Yes, I think this should do it.” I replied.

“Do you want a bag for this?” she asked.

Oh, no. Let me try to cram this in my purse and subject myself to the possibility of having it spill out as I pass through YOUR CONVENIENTLY LOCATED LIQUOR STORE on the way out.

“Yes, please.”

Gone are the days when a trip to the drugstore was for something fun—like makeup, shampoo or band-aids.

Welcome to the gates of hell.