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- Apr 13, 2017
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Naaaaaaah
I called up to talk to the manager but he was there and started telling me it was my fault too somehow.
Really it was nbd but it just bugged me.
I walk into my local dispensary, and they do an ID check at the door.
Chick looks at her computer,
"HEY, first and last name! How was (list of shit you bought last time)?"
Comes from a good place, right, trying to be good at customer service?
No. Ya don't holler out my entire name and what I buy, I have privacy rights.
It just instantly pissed me off and I told him "The problem was me? - go fuck yourself. "
I don't know.
I'm super depressed from an experience I had at work yesterday and it's still kind of haunting me.
I was taking care of a guy who took an overdose of Benadryl but it wasn't quite enough to kill him, and they had to keep restarting his heart. When they heat up the paddles and hit you and you're still awake, it's extremely painful and they had to hit this guy five times in about 2 hours. Every time, he screamed bloody murder and we were basically torturing him in the effort to keep him alive...after a couple of hours he just died, and nobody was really expecting it.
The dude was smiling on his way into the OR and had expressed relief that he hadn't died, that he wanted to live.
I guess it'll take a little time to wind down from it.
But it's sort of overwhelmingly sad.
Dayum homie. Methinks the traumatic life-and-death experience you just witnessed may be the underlying issue here, and the dispensary shit is just the trigger for what you're needing to vent for. Not that you're in the wrong.
In some sense the disease is part of the cure: Take 3 dabs and post back in 20 minutes.