Small town pharmacies are the worst: everyone knows what prescription you’re taking. Heaven help you if it’s for something embarrassing, like erectile dysfunction. Far better to develop an Oxycontin addiction than to be known as the guy with the droopy pecker. Except that I don’t have an Oxy script; I got the other one.
I was standing in line, five deep, waiting my turn, getting knowing looks. Just shoot me. It got worse: when it was my turn, I got a loud speech from the pharmacist about how this medicine wasn’t like my member - this was robust.
I died inside.
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