I'm a pharmacist. Technically, a Doctor of Pharmacy, if you can believe it. Who knew that six years of education would get you a never-used title? At any rate, I did not go into hospital pharmacy -- I decided I wanted to be with the people, and took a job with the largest retail drug chain in America.
For the most part, I love my job. Helping people does feel good. An unbelievably large part of my job is actually advising people on how to start or stop pooping, which is why I love PoopReport so much. It never ceases to amaze me how many people can't figure out defecation, considering they've been doing it their whole life.
But this story isn't about the "normal" people I speak of --- it's about the fetish freak who mentally raped me about four years ago.
I've never forgotten him. And I tell all my interns about him to prepare them for what can and will happen. They never tell you these stories in school because the majority of the professors haven't worked in retail EVER, or it was so long ago they were still hand-rolling pills.
I was minding my own business, checking prescriptions, when I got a request for some assistance in the laxative aisle. There is a tall (I'm only five feet), gross-looking (scraggly hair, dirty fingernails, not so clean) guy waiting for me to be alone. So I cheerfully go over to the aisle and try to get a history from him. "Poo help is my specialty," I say. It's always helpful to know how often people pooped before the issue arose and how long the issue has been going on.
Well, Mr. Gross tells me that he is a truck driver (typical), and that he hasn't pooed for three days. He's been driving and really needs to go, and the pain is unbelievable, he says. So far, a pretty normal visit for me. But here's where it gets odd: I ask him what he's done so far to relieve his issue, what meds has he taken if any, has he had any relief from any of them, etc. And he says he's regularly taking stool softener and has tried some senna -- no relief. He said he's tried a few enemas -- nothing. And then, out of the blue, he says, "I reached up in there and dug out a few nuggets."
WHOA! Wait a minute, this is more information than I've ever been given by a complete stranger in a drugstore aisle. We're not in a private area and he's not whispering.
But some people are Shameless everywhere, so I just shrug it off. Maybe this is normal in his house.
I guess I didn't have enough of a shocked look on my face (years of practice), so he continued. "I just want that fullness in there," he said. That seemed a bit odd and not necessarily related to just defecating. My suspicions are perking up.
I start talking about enemas and he gives me more information about how he wants someone to GIVE him an enema. Do I know anyone who could give him one?
Uh, no. Waiter, check please... I start desperately looking around for a technician to signal me that I have a phone call or a gun handy or something. This is getting so pervy that I wanted to throw up. He isn't really interested in a colonic (I was trying to legitimize his issue) -- what he wants is a female nurse (who, I'm sure, should be naked under her uniform) to stick her fist up his ass.
Now I've had enough. I've been mentally raped and I'm dizzy. I say, "Well, I'm sorry, I can't help you with that. You might try the emergency room." And then I leave to go back to my station.
I wait until he beats it out of there and proceed to start shaking. Then I have to tell everyone at work about the freak who mentally accosted me.
I have no idea if that guy was just messing with me, or if he was a guy with a fetish, but I never never never go to the laxative aisle without a good look at the person asking for help. I'm not even sure I would have believed such a story as a student. I guess you just have to experience it to believe it.
