Buying Drugs in the Ghetto

I have a growing relationship with the nation’s “health care system.” I put quotes in there because systems have an internal logic. It may be screwy and pointless logic, but there’s a reason things are the way they are in a system. There’s no logic to health care in this country. American health care is more like the exercise yard at the penitentiary. The weak are victimized by the strong for no reason other than they can. It’s what I imagine Hell to be, pointless, irrational torment.

I could probably fill up a library with commentary on the health rackets, but I’ll save that for another day. Last night I stopped at the pharmacy (that’s the chemist for my UK readers) to get my heart meds refilled. I stood waiting for someone to acknowledge me for ten minutes until a black fellow waved me over. His name was Michael Yababadodaba. OK, I made up the last name, but it was something like that. My guess is he originated in Ghana as they love English first names and tribal last names.

Michael moved so slow it was hard to know if he was actually moving. His English was passable, but I suspected he had an IQ in the 90’s. Everything about the job seemed to confuse him. After fiddling with the computer for ten minutes, he informed me that they were out of the medication. He did not know when it would be available. Further, he said he tried to call me earlier about it. That seemed to be important to him as he repeated it several times, like an incantation. I suspect that by “tried to call me” he meant that he tried and failed to use the telephone.

Another ten minutes of him fiddling around with the computer and he finally grunted out that another pharmacy had the medicine. It’s very weird to have to use hand signals to communicate with someone responsible for correctly dispensing your medication. Anyway, he handed me a piece of paper with a telephone number on it. Michael may not have the sense God gave a goldfish, but he has very nice penmanship. He has that going for him.

Pharmacist used to be a job for middle-class white kids from the state college. The job did not require much in the way of IQ, but you needed to be conscientious. Filling the wrong meds or letting someone take something that would have an adverse reaction with their other meds are the sorts of mistakes a pharmacy likes to avoid. The pharmacist is supposed to be a pest for little details, as the last check point in the quality control system. They are the sorts of people who enjoy reading the fine print on small bottles.

That worked fine until the usual suspects decided they needed to loot the pharmacies so they have started to import third world types on visas to fill those jobs. Instead of dealing with a pleasant white girl from the neighborhood, I now deal with illiterate Africans not entirely sure how they got here. I can’t imagine anyone in America is standing around saying that we have a shortage of Africans , but here we are, importing them from the mother country.

I called the number from my cell on the way out and learn that it is for a pharmacy in the ghetto. I fear no man, but being an old white guy in the ghetto at night is inviting trouble I don’t need. After reaching a human, I learned they do have the meds and my script will be filled and ready in the morning. The woman on the other end sounded white, pleasant and competent. I mentioned in passing that Michael did not fill me with confidence and she laughed and assured me my drugs would be there waiting. You can always trust the drug dealer to be straight with you.

Mid-morning, I had a break in the schedule so I headed over to the ghetto to make a drug buy. I always feel like I should have the soundtrack of Shaft playing in my eight track when I head into the ghetto. In the hood, it always feels like 1972. One thing about living in or near the ghetto is you quickly learn that black people are not good drivers. They are unpredictable drivers. For no reason other than they want to, a driver will make a right hand turn from the left lane or turn onto a busy street causing a pile up. That means you have to pay extra attention to avoid getting wrecked.

Sure enough, a clapped out sedan comes speeding toward me out of a parking lot on the left. Traffic coming the other way skidded to a stop in the snow and I had to do a series of maneuvers to avoid getting hit. The two yos in the “hoopty” were completely oblivious to the fact they almost caused a multi-car pile up. They just had somewhere to go and that’s all that mattered.

Anyone who has been to the third world knows that driving in those places is a life altering adventure. Drive anywhere for any length of time in these countries and you have a near death experience. A hallmark of the third world is comically dangerous roads. My sense is it is due to the lack of self-restraint and time preference. In the ghetto, time in not linear. As we invite the third world to settle in our lands, the ability to navigate ghetto drivers will be an essential skill.

I parked and headed into to get my meds. As I walked in the help all stopped what they are doing and looked at me like I just parked my space ship. They don’t see too many white guys in there. They assumed I was either cop or a higher up in the store’s management. Once they figured out I was just a customer, they went back to doing nothing. The woman at the counter was polite, but “customer service” in the ghetto is an abuse of the language. The woman was named, I’m not kidding, “Chakita” and she must have spent her pay check getting an elaborate hair weave. From behind the bullet proof glass she handed over my drugs and I handed over my money. What a way to live.

This is our future.

14 thoughts on “Buying Drugs in the Ghetto

  1. Pingback: The Espionage in Your Gin & Tonic, Bad WhitesIowaDawg Blogging Stuff | IowaDawg Blogging Stuff

  2. Pingback: Bad Whites | The Z Blog

  3. I have a daughter who does lab. medicine in a large west coast teaching University hospital. They have a few Africans, from Africa, working there and they are awful. One I am thinking of does as little as she can, was trained on ancient machinery, and lectures others constantly. Etc. And lab results are supposed to be accurate.
    Now in the local pharmacy, I avoid the ones that hire Chinese girls. They are not into service. Rude, imperious and stupid.

  4. re: Imported African Pharmacists

    I am also discovering the American Health Care System now that I am on the down side of life.Just about a year ago I had a total hip replacement. Total success I might say and twelve years of increasing pain vanished. Part of the therapy was that I was placed on coumadin for four weeks to prevent a pulmonary embolism. After discharge from the hospital on day three I was instructed to visit the hospital’s satellite office for a finger stick clotting test twice a week while I was on coumadin to have the clotting monitored. I did that as scheduled and I had an African pharmacist as the person monitoring my clotting. He was as careful as he could be and dutifully twice a week increased my dose as I always tested lower than the therapeutic level until on my last visit after four weeks and still not fully coumadinized I was told to stop taking the drug since I was only supposed to be on the medicine for that four weeks. He never got the point: THAT I WAS NOT GIVEN ENOUGH COUMADIN TO ACTUALLY PREVENT A CLOT. He was actually there to 1) PROTECT the hospital showing some standard of care by going through the motions and, 2) Just be checking that I was not OVER MEDICATED by too much thinning which could result in my expiring.

    I told my sister the Internist Professor (Retired) about the episode and she laughed saying that the imported Drs., pharmacists and nurses from Africa are known for being dull and ill trained but in this climate of Credentialism all that matters is the DOCUMENT to the Government and licensing boards.

    Dan Kurt

  5. That’s a rich post Mr.Z. I was in West Africa once and my host told me when a car gets in an accident the police don’t come, ambulances don’t come; you deal with it yourself. Of course who wants to go to a West African hospital anyways.

  6. “Massachusetts, if you can tolerate the liberalism”. Noooooooooooo!!! I fled that uber Land of the Liberal 10 years ago because I couldn’t take it anymore. We do visit relatives there and spend 2 weeks on the Cape, though. It’s such a shame that a state with so much to offer has to be so liberal.

    • I loved living in New Hampshire. I like the winter so that does not bother me. What I really liked is the near total indifference those old Yankees have for their fellow man. No one felt any need to be in a community or share anything with one another. Mind your own business and don’t be a pest was the prevailing culture. I like that.

      Mass has a lot going for it, but the liberal loonies are hard to take. I have very dear friends who joined the cult and it is like watching someone get addicted to drugs. There’s nothing you can do but hope they snap out of it before it is too late.

  7. A right-winger is something like a black conservative, less than five percent of the population. A person has to be willing to be the only one of his type in the room and be good with that. A wry sense of humor helps, and the ability to be amused instead of outraged. I’m working on that.

  8. I’ve always marveled at the fact that people will spend big bucks on their hair and then complain that (fill in the blank with some cheap product everybody uses) costs too much. I’m one of those black girls with a name easy to pronounce and hair that I didn’t spend $1,000.oo on.

    Zman, this is one of the funniest blogs I’ve ever read. And no, I didn’t take offense. I’m not easily offended. 🙂

  9. Pharmacy school is where failed doctors and dentists go. Smart people but not smart enough. My friend, make a move. Go to where the white people live. I moved from the black mecca “Atlanta” a few years ago and am still marveling at how polite white people are. It was worth the expense and transition trauma. It is nice to be among my own. Even the blacks here (panhandle Florida) are respectful and courteous. I will concur however that black drivers, especially the women, are rude. Other than that move my friend, move.

  10. Michael was likely a pharma tech and not a pharmacist. The tech position is low level but the pharmacist position requires rigorous schooling and a high IQ.

  11. “Anyone who has been to the third world knows that driving in those places is a life altering adventure.”

    Relevant tale: someone I know had cause to go to Uganda and was incensed when the car they were in was pulled over by a local cop and the driver ‘fined’ on the spot. Not a huge amount, and no offence had been committed from what this man could see, but the petty ‘fine’ was duly paid and the driver continued the journey.

    The reason? You see, said the black driver, it’s all down to colour. You are white and the police think you have lots of money. So they like to stop a car with a white guy in and issue small fines for some imagined driving misdemeanour. Better to pay up and they wave you on. Sure, it’s really a bribe but that’s how Africa works.

    Small bribes here and there, and whitey pays without question.

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